


Habits (Stay High)

by PollyWeasley



Series: Habits [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, Happy Ending, Healer!Harry, Hung!Harry, M/M, Minor Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Luna Lovegood, Minor Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood, PTSD, Top!Harry, based on Habits by Tove Lo, bottom!Draco, kind of a song fic but not really, kind of angst but not so much, there's a lot of songs though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-03 01:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyWeasley/pseuds/PollyWeasley
Summary: He hated the clubs, hated drinking, hated the guys he danced and fell with every night, and he hated the next days. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop simply because being sober was much worse than being hungover. Thinking about the headache, the taste of bile and the Pansy's preach was better than the pain that was constantly there. That didn't end even after an orgasm with a delicious face. That didn't dissipate even when he was laughing and dancing. He needed to be asleep not to think. And he did it night after night, after night ...





	1. Stay High

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm here with this two chaptered fic for you. It's one of my personal favourites and it's unbeta'd (anyone willing to help, I would very much accept it.) The second chapter is already written, but in portuguese. Translating is a hard work, so maybe I'll take a while to post chapter two (things at work are super tense and I have little to no time to give to my fics, so I hope you understand it. I'll try to post in the next 2 weeks though.).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

|| _You're gone and I got to stay high  
All the time to keep you off my mind _

_Spend my days locked in a haze_  
_Trying to forget you babe, I fall back down_  
 _Gotta stay high all my life to forget I'm missing you_ ||  
_**\- Habits (Stay High) – Tove Lo**_

 

**November 2006**

 

The light pierced his eyes through his eyelids like razors. There was a horrible, bitter taste in his mouth and his whole body ached. The position he was in was uncomfortable, but he didn’t feel strong enough to move. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and the world appeared in front of him like a badly taken photograph. He couldn’t see right because everything was blurry. His head throbbed and someone was trying to talk to him. The same person shoved him on his shoulder with some insistence. Merlin, he just wanted to _die_.

 

He blinked a few times, trying to get the hangover out of his head, and Pansy appeared in his line of sight.

 

"I'll throw you down the porch if you don’t get up now." Her voice threatened and he rolled his eyes, sitting up on her huge sofa. It wasn’t his house. For a moment, he was disoriented. He wasn’t at home. Then the images began to appear slowly in his troubled mind. Oh. The club. He was out with Pansy, Blaise and Theo. He drank until he was pissed drunk, danced with several people, and after that, things began to disappear. As per usual. He didn’t care anymore. But the _day after’s headache_...

 

Draco always felt like shite when he woke up in the following days. That didn’t stop him from doing it all over again, though. He rested his elbows on his thighs and his face in his hands, staring for a while at the emptiness before rising on his feet. His legs were wobbly, but he was accustomed to the sensation. He went to the toilet and looked at his face in the mirror. He was a mess. His blond hair was sticking in different directions, and he had glitter all over himself. He had deep dark circles and his lips were cracked. There were purple spots on his neck, where someone had certainly been excited, but he didn’t remember. He swallowed, blinking at his face, and quickly wiped a tear that slipped. He took a deep breath before starting to take off his destroyed clothes. Draco had a collection of them at Pansy's house, where he often woke up.

 

The truth, he thought as he let hot water fall on his battered muscles, was that he hated this life. He hated clubs, hated drinking, hated the guys he danced with and fell with every night, and he hated the next days. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop simply because being sober was much worse than being hungover. Thinking about a headache, the taste of bile and the preaching he would receive from Pansy was better than the pain that was constantly there. A pain that didn’t quit even after an orgasm with a delicious face. That didn’t dissipate even when he was laughing and dancing. He needed to be asleep not to think. And he did it night after night, after night...

 

His Gringotts’s account was suffering from his constant excesses. His health, too. He didn’t care. There were days when he wondered if it would be that the day that he would finally stop waking up. It was dramatic, he knew. He always woke up the next day. And that just made him want to drink more.

 

When he arrived in the kitchen of his friend's modern apartment, practically in the centre of London, he felt better. He was wearing denims that he knew fit perfectly to his body, but he didn’t bother to put on a shirt. The smell of tea was wonderful even from a distance, and as he sat down at the table, Pansy set a steaming cup in front of him. Her expression, however, was severe.

 

"Draco, you have to stop.” She said, sighing and sitting down next to him. Draco couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling.

 

“Pans, I already...”

 

"Draco, I'm serious,” Pansy interrupted him, and for a moment, he realized she was no longer his teenage friend. Pansy was a twenty-five-year-old woman. _Heavens_. 25 years old and she already looked like an adult. He wanted to die. "Theo had to get you out of a car yesterday. A Muggle’s car. Do you know how dangerous is this?”

 

“A Muggle’s?” Draco laughed, wishing to remember, but without actually making any effort.

 

“Drake, seriously. _Please_ ,” She frowned. “Everyone's worried. You just get worse. It’s no longer fun. Either you get over it or we're going to have you hospitalized for addiction.”

 

“Pans, please. Stop overreacting. I'm fine, am I not?”

 

"Not by your own choice!" She practically screamed, her eyes filling with tears. He felt a little guilty. "Can you stop trying to kill yourself? Everyone's trying, here. It's not easy for anyone. But you seem to want to sink and drag everyone down with you!”

 

"Then don’t go with me!" He replied it to the same extent, standing up angrily.

 

Pansy stared at him for some time, hurt. She sniffled, wiping her eyes and trying to calm down.

 

“Draco, I love you. I love you so much. But you _have_ to stop. I don’t want to bury anyone else,” She said in a weak voice, and he fell back on the chair, hiding his face in his hands. He felt her warm hand on his back, her fingernails making soothing circles on his back. "You could talk to him-"

 

"And ruin his perfect life, Pans?" Draco lifted his face, laughing at the tears streaming down his face. “It's been years. It doesn’t make any difference.”

 

“It does for you.”

 

Draco couldn’t deny it. He denied for a whole year after the ‘incident’ and tried to live as if he wasn’t hurt. As if he wasn’t empty. Like he wasn’t dying inside. Now, he couldn’t deny it. Every night was difficult, but when his name appeared, it was worse. When he saw his face on the _Prophet_ , Draco couldn’t stop thinking ‘what if...’. What if he had made different decisions three years ago? Had he admitted to himself what he felt at that moment? If he hadn’t been so afraid... If... If... Now he couldn’t do anything. The paths had already been traced, in very different directions, and Draco couldn’t simply turn his back and return. How do you go back in a direction that you had lost so long ago?

 

“He doesn’t even remember me,” His voice sounded fake even to himself.

 

"You're Draco Malfoy. He's Harry Potter. If there's anyone he remembers, it's you,” She said, simply, and pulled him into a hug that he would deny forever that he needed, but that took minutes to finish.

 

|| _First line, take mine; I'm fine as fuck_  
_Love myself tonight and I think you can feel the same_  
 _Moonshine, good time; babe, you're in luck_  
 _'Cause I will do whatever comes to mind_  
 _You'll go insane_ ||

 

_**\- Influence – Tove Lo** _

 

**July 2003**

 

Draco couldn’t believe his eyes. Apparently, Pansy and Blaise couldn’t either. They were in their favourite pub, the Fairy Finger, conveniently located in a hidden part of the Wizarding London. After the war, Draco had found the pub when he was looking for somewhere to celebrate his freedom after five months of community service - his sentence greatly diminished by the influence of certain heroes - and nowadays he was a frequent customer. It was cosy, and at the same time, it had a certain class that he thought was fit for someone in his condition - his name was in the mud, but he was still rich, so he didn’t want to go to the Leaky like some commoner. He should’ve realized that that day was special because... Well, first, it was the end of the month. People were out on the street spending their just received salaries. And for some reason, there was celebration everywhere.

 

As he entered the pub, Draco realized why. It was the birthday of the Great Saviour of the Wizarding World, and this same Saviour was completely drunk on the karaoke stage, singing Celestina Warbeck at the top of his lungs. Granger seemed to be laughing to tears at a nearby table, and Weasley was standing on the chair, singing along, even though Potter’s out of tune singing was standing all over the voices singing the same song.

 

Draco looked at the scene firstly with contempt, then with disgust, and then he could no longer control his laughter. Potter made faces, practically hugging the amplifier as if it was the love of his life. And when Draco started laughing, for some reason, it was the moment when Potter decided to open his eyes and move them directly to Draco.

 

“Draco Malfoy!” He shouted, and many heads turned to the pub’s entrance. "You came to congratulate me! Thank you! You're beautiful!” Potter said, and Draco started to laugh even harder, his cheeks burning. Pansy laughed so hard that she was practically hanging on Blaise’s neck. “Hermione! I want him as a gift!”

 

Draco watched as Granger stepped onto the stage to pull the amplifier out of Harry’s hands, who seemed reluctant to drop the object. If Draco knew that by the end of that night he would be against a wall and being snogged mercilessly by Harry Potter's insistent lips, he would probably have turned around at that moment and gone home. But as he didn’t know, he just laughed when Pansy tapped his shoulder and asked in a jocular tone:

 

"What about that, Drake? Are you going to give Potter the gift he wants?”

 

After that day, it was easy to accept Potter's attacks. Draco owed nothing to anyone, he was free, Potter himself had freed him from his ties to the Ministry, and despite the tattoo still marking his skin, the brunet looked like he didn’t care about the past. At least it was what it seemed when his mouth marked the thin skin of Draco's neck before he even opened the door to his flat.

 

They had three first dates. On Potter's birthday, Draco was deliciously attacked at the bar, and he realised with delight that Potter cared nothing for the public, considering that his hands didn’t leave his arse for a second and, if they left, it was to hold tight on his leg, his waist or his neck. He would have taken him home if Granger and Weasley had not dragged him away, claiming that Potter was ‘too drunk to know what he was doing’. Other than that, however, they didn’t seem to care that their precious Saint Potter was boggling with a Malfoy against the wall of a pub. In fact, they left laughing.

 

_Weird._

 

At the second date, however, Harry was sober. He was in a new club that had opened a few weeks ago and was having a debut boom. Potter was alone and sat next to him with two drinks and a humorous smile on his lips. Apparently, Potter was curious because, although he had had some affairs, he had never gone to bed with any man. Draco was more than happy to help him with this problem. Potter took him to his flat, which he apparently had bought on impulse, and if he didn’t know beforehand, Draco would have thought he was a pro. Potter took pleasure in giving pleasure, and Draco lost his teacher posture after the first five minutes. Potter wasn’t that good at sucking, it was true. He couldn’t go too deep and had little care with his teeth, but the same couldn’t be said of his ability to lick. Draco was completely ashamed of how many moans came out of his mouth, his mind confused and his mouth drooling, as Harry pushed him against the mattress, his hands opening his arse cheeks obscenely as he applied one of his best demonstrations of a cunnilingus.

 

Not to mention all the rest, of course. Potter was wonderfully well-endowed - 23 centimetres and a half if he remembered Harry's words correctly - which was ironic since Harry was almost 10 centimetres shorter than he was. Draco was proud of his nearly 17, but he was also what would be called a size queen, so he could say that he made a point of enjoying the night very well. In fact, when he woke up, it was four in the morning, and he felt hot, sore in the best places and completely exhausted. He didn’t even want to sleep. He hated sleeping over after sex, and he hated giving the wrong impression. But there he was, at dawn, trying to pull away from Potter's arms, which seemed more like tentacles, so tightly wrapped around him.

 

When he got home, however, Draco had a smile on his face.

 

At the third date, Potter barely had to call him. They ended the night against the back wall of the pub, Draco's trousers around his knees and Potter kneeling behind him. Malfoy didn’t know he liked having his arse eaten out so much up to that point, and who would he be to deny something that Potter wanted to do and was terribly good at?

 

From that day on, they ended up creating a ritual, though not explicit. Every Friday, they'd meet up in Fairy Finger casually, and they'd end the night together in Potter's flat for another sex session. He couldn’t say they were friends. They barely knew each other. Draco could describe Harry's favourite methods in detail as he prepared Draco to be penetrated. He could also tell what kind of lubricant he liked and that Potter hated protection spells, but since Draco refused to use those Muggle things, he resigned himself to using them - Draco suspected that it wasn’t for the spell itself, but because Potter always had to ask Draco to conjure them, which always broke the mood. After realising this, Draco simply did it without being asked, and Potter no longer complained about it. If he complained, Draco would be insistent. He wanted nothing between his body and that masterpiece that was Harry Potter's cock. Other than that, Draco had no idea if Potter preferred fermented or distilled beverages, or whether he cheered for Puddlemore or the Cannons, like the rest of the Weasleys. And he was fine with it. Potter was fun, a guarantee of sex at the end of the week that he liked to think of as a last resource if he couldn’t get someone better.

 

Draco kept seeing other people, of course. He also still went to clubs and danced until he got tired. He was young, free. His father was in Azkaban, his mother didn’t give a flipping fuck of what he did in his life, and Draco wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to enjoy that freedom before he had to do whatever adults did. Marrying, raising a family, having a job or whatever. He was 22 years old and was very happy to do what he absolutely wanted. He should have realised when things started to change. As always, he let these important details pass.

 

 _|| Now if we're talking body_  
_You got a perfect one, so put it on me_  
 _Swear it won't take you long_  
 _If you love me right_  
 _We fuck for life, on and on and on_ ||

_**\- Talking body – Tove Lo** _

 

“Hey, Malfoy,” Potter sat beside him casually, not caring for Theodore Nott's raised eyebrows for his intrusion on the Slytherin table. It was agreed that neither the Slytherins nor the Gryffindors would interfere with the meetings between their two members, but they didn’t mingle. Harry smiled at Pansy, who smiled back, and slapped Blaise's shoulder as if they were best friends. “Thursday. You have to go. It's your team, isn’t it?” Potter said, holding out what looked like a ticket.

 

Draco frowned, grabbing the ticket and reading it. It was the Puddlemore game that was going to happen on that Thursday. The tickets were sold out in the first hour of opening, and Draco only heard anything about the game the next day.

 

"Are you asking me to go with you?" He asked, and Potter nodded as if it were nothing, drinking from his beer bottle before answering.

 

"Yes. I would have called you guys too, but they gave me a courtesy, and there were only two of them,” He explained to the others. He turned to Draco and smiled. "I'll see you Thursday, then. In my flat.” And with a kiss on the corner of his mouth, Harry got up and went to the Gryffindors’ table.

 

Draco stared at the ticket in his hand, not really knowing what to do, so he just tucked it into his pocket and went back to drinking his cocktail.

 

"Has Potter just called you on a date?" Theodore asked, and Draco laughed.

 

"He has a very bad idea of a date, then. A Quidditch game is anything but romantic,” He said.

 

"But there's a lot of hot blokes being aggressive,” Pansy pointed, and Draco laughed even more.

 

"Well, if he wanted me just for him, he would hardly show me more hot men, would he?" Draco asked, and Blaise scowled at his drink.

 

"Can we stop talking about these things? There is someone at this table who has no preference towards penises,” Zabini complained, and Theo turned to Pansy.

 

"Getting out of the closet, Pans?" He asked, and had to jump off the table to avoid the kick that Blaise aimed at his legs while Pansy tried to breath as she laughed and choked at the same time.

 

On that night, he didn’t return to Potter's flat for another sex session, which was a strange change in his routine, but Draco dismissed the thoughts about it. It was only a week without kissing Potter. He had spent much more time without doing this and it wasn’t the end of the world. It was relatively early when he returned to the Manor, and he couldn’t resist staring at the ticket for a while. What was the problem? He liked Puddlemore, apparently Potter too. Obviously, he couldn’t take Weasley with him, and it was common knowledge that Granger wasn’t a fan of the sport. Draco didn’t know about Potter’s other friends, but he believed that the brunet’s best option was him and why let a ticket get lost if he could take someone who would enjoy the game as much as he?

 

Draco decided he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He changed his clothes and went out to a nightclub. Some drink, dancing, and maybe some casual sex would lighten his thoughts. A few hours later, he was in a hotel room with a boy with brown curls and an athlete body, tanned and ripped. Draco was amused, but the athlete wasn’t exceptional and certainly didn’t have 23 centimetres. A few minutes later, he was getting dressed and soon returned home. It was nice to be distracted, but when he laid his head on his bed, Draco didn’t sleep right away. He could only relax after he decided what clothes he was going to use for the game on Thursday, even though he still had many days to decide.

 

When Thursday came, Draco was ready before lunch. Of course, it was because he needed to be perfect, as always. Potter would probably be dressed in jeans and a tee, so he tried not to dress in a classic way. Black trousers, Italian leather boots, and a light blue jumper looked quite appropriate. The day was cold, but when Draco rang the bell, his coat was on his arm rather than on his body. He didn’t want to look so formal or casual. Potter soon opened the door, and Draco wasn’t wrong when he thought he would be dressed quite casually. That didn’t mean that Potter wasn’t delicious. He wore faded blue denims, trail boots, and a Puddlemore United shirt, which was the exact size to cover his body and at the same time reveal every muscle in his chest, abdomen, and arms.

 

Draco looked at him without really trying to disguise it, and when he looked up at Harry's face again, there was a smug smile on his lips. The blond noticed that Potter had pointed incisors, and one of them was slightly crooked. He couldn’t help but think it was adorable.

 

“Hey,” Draco greeted him, and Harry pulled him by the waist and kissed him right there at the door, to Draco's surprise. His big hands were warm from where they were, at the sides of his waist, and he unconsciously leaned against Harry’s body, his free arm leaning against his chest. Potter had a delicious kiss, always long, with tongue and small nibbles and sucking on his lips.

 

“Hey,” Potter said against his mouth, and Draco smiled sideways, raising a hand and gently pulling the little curls that rested on the back of Harry’s neck.

 

“Changing your mind about the game? Would you rather stay at home?” Draco asked, feeling his body heat easily with the prospect of sex, but Potter gave him a kiss on the lips before he moved.

 

"Are you crazy? Pudd will play against the Arrows and I plan to see them completely destroyed by the end of the day,” He said, pushing Draco a little further into the hall, before pulling on his own coat and closing the door to his flat. "Not that I wouldn’t love to see you completely destroyed by the end of the day either.” He winked, and Draco rolled his eyes, following Harry to the apparition point.

 

They made their way to the place where they would get the portkey, and about half an hour later they were climbing the endless steps of the Arrows' Quidditch pitch. Puddlemore would play away from home, but most of the spectators in the field were wearing blue, at least so far. After long minutes of climbing, they finally reached the VIP area, where there were small booths where they could stay away from the eyes of the general public and enjoy the game without worrying about all the thrust that always happened. He and Harry would be left alone for the duration of the game, and Draco's mind had been filled with not very chaste ideas. As Harry sat down in one of the comfortable chairs, he looked up to Draco, waiting for him to sit on the other, but the blond had another idea.

 

He sat down on Potter's lap with one leg on either side and, taking advantage of Harry's surprise, grabbed him by the hair, kissing him hungrily. Potter moaned between surprise and pleasure, his hands immediately going to his arse, as Draco knew they would. Potter had a fascination with his arse and couldn’t even disguise it; Draco took advantage of that whenever possible. He felt the man's hands go up to his back, slip under his jumper, and crawl over his warm skin. Draco bit his lover’s lower lip, sucking it, then giving the same treatment to the top one before completely losing them. Potter was attacking his neck, and Draco smiled, his eyes closed. He knew that that afternoon would be very enjoyable. He was lost in Potter’s hands and kisses, but they stopped as soon as the whistle indicating the beginning of the game sounded. Potter was panting and smiling, but he pushed him gently, making Draco sit in the chair next to him. His denims didn’t cover the huge erection in his crotch area, and Draco wanted to kneel between his legs and free him from his confinement, but the players flying in front of him caught his eye.

 

 _Well,_ he thought. _We have the whole game. We'll soon be catching up again._

 

Four hours later, Draco was grinning from ear to ear as he and Harry were going down the bleachers. His throat burned and his voice was hoarse, but for different reasons than he had imagined. The game was relatively fast for a match between Puddlemere and the Appleby Arrows, but extremely exciting. Draco had forgotten how much he loved Quidditch. After half an hour, he found himself screaming, laughing and vibrating at every turn of the players, cursing wrong moves and commenting every step with Potter, who was as excited as he was. As time passed, kisses were forgotten in favour of commemoration when the Arrows' seeker caught the snitch inadvertently, ending the game and making Puddlemere win by more than 130 points ahead.

 

When the game was over, it was dark, and he was hungry. They followed the flow of the crowd, and Harry held him by the wrist so they wouldn’t get lost in the sea of people. The warmth of his palm felt good around his wrist, soothing, and he couldn’t stop laughing and reviewing on his favourite moments, practically screaming to be heard in the crowd’s cacophony.

 

"Jacobson’s feint was amazing! I've seen it before, but he did it so well that I didn’t notice it until now!” Draco said, impressed, trying not to gesture a lot with his free hand because of the little space.  
"The best part was Thomas trying to recover after it,” Harry laughed, and for a few seconds, Draco was lost in that carefree smile. They crossed the gates, and Draco managed to breathe deeply as the crowd dispersed.

 

“I'm starving,” Potter said, releasing the other's wrist now that they were freer, and Draco wished they were between those people again because he missed the contact. “There's a snack bar I love. I mean, it sells hotdogs and burgers, but we can go to a more refined place if you want.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes, playfully punching the brunet on the shoulder.

 

"I can enjoy a burger as much as anyone, okay?”

 

"I'm sorry to think that the Great Draco Malfoy wouldn’t know the wonders of Muggle fast food." Harry raised his hands as if surrendering, and Draco laughed at his gesture.

 

They took the portkey and soon they were back in London. They apparated in a dark alley near the snack bar and, logically, they took a few minutes to cling to themselves against the wall for a long snog. It was colder now at night and they both wore their coats, even as they entered the diner, that was a little warmer.

 

They sat at one of the tables near the wall, where the benches were padded and they could sit side by side. They made their orders and ended up taking off their coats as they waited, as it started to get hot. The place was relatively empty and they felt more comfortable talking about the game without attracting the attention of uninformed Muggles. They ate and Harry couldn’t resist teasing Draco with his chips, and they started a mini-war until Draco agreed to show how far he could get a hotdog into his mouth.

 

They were enjoying themselves so much that they only noticed a man muttering on the other side of the diner at the end of the meal. Draco was sure he heard the man say something like ‘ _bloody fags_ ’ against his drink, and look at them with an unfriendly expression. Which was funny because until that moment they hadn’t touched, kissed, hugged or anything. Draco elbowed Potter and pointed the man with his eyes. Harry noticed and his smile was too Slytherin for Draco's taste. He took one last sip of his coke before turning sideways. Without any warning, he attacked the blond's neck in an open kiss, running his tongue across the muscle and sucking the spot hard enough for Draco to know that it would turn purple even if he healed it with magic. It was hard to control a moan as he felt Harry's mouth work around his neck, and even more when his hand rested high on his thigh, too close to his crotch. Draco practically closed his eyes, his lips parted and his breathing heavy, but then he saw that the man on the other side was wide-eyed and horrified, staring at them.

 

Draco's smile was wide enough to bother him even more. Harry's hand got into his jumper, indiscreetly going up and down his stomach, and Draco held up a hand, tucked it into Harry’s jet black curls, exposing his neck further, unabashedly. In moments, Harry pulled his face and his mouth was soon receiving the same treatment as his neck was before. Draco forgot the reason for the show almost immediately, and they pulled away only when they heard someone clearing their throat.

 

Draco turned away from Potter, his lips swollen and red, and looked up. A waitress tried to sound serious, but she was clearly nervous.

 

"I'm sorry, but... I need to ask you to stop. The other customers are feeling uncomfortable,” She said, her voice cracking a little, and Draco laughed wryly. The ‘other clients’ were a couple of punks who were doing exactly what he and Harry were doing a few seconds ago and the man on the other side. Before he could say anything, however, Harry stood up, pulling him with him.

 

"Don’t worry, Daisy,” Potter said in his deliciously hoarse voice, the same Harry used when he described what he was going to do to Draco while he took off his clothes. Potter took his wallet out of his pocket, picking up several notes of Muggle money, folding them and stuffing it into the front pocket of the girl's shirt, where her name was sawn. “We're leaving.” He finished, pushing Draco out of the space so they could leave. He grabbed their coats from the upholstery and smiled provocatively at her. Draco didn’t know if he really liked seeing that smile directed at someone else. "And if you want to know... I would have done the same to you," He said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, which clearly made her melt, before taking Draco by the wrist again and pulling him out of the diner.

 

When the chill of the night hit them hard in the face, Potter was laughing freely, as if there was nothing wrong in the world. Maybe there wasn’t. Draco couldn’t resist laughing along with him.

 

"Did you see his face?" Potter asked, turning his smiling face to Draco and giving him his coat, then putting on his own.

 

"He'll never forget the hottest thing he's ever seen," Draco responded, and they laughed while they walked to the apparition point.

 

Everything was silent when they arrived, and a smile still gleamed in their eyes. Unhurried, Harry held Draco by the waist and pushed him against the wall, kissing his lips slowly, almost casually. Draco's arms wrapped around the youngest's neck, one wrist resting on the other, and he let Harry’s body lean against his. He lost himself in that kiss and in the hands that held him firmly in the same place, not caring how long he stood there, his eyes closed, his lips moving against Potter's, tongues dragging against each other and occasionally small bites.

 

When Potter pulled away, his eyes were almost closed, but the green glowed with a sensual vibration that burned Draco's eyes in the warmest way.

 

"I'm going to fuck you so good you'll remember the feeling of my cock thrusting into you until next year," Potter said before he parted them both.

 

Draco should’ve been wary of the veracity of these words. At the moment, however, he was so hard that he thought of nothing but the feeling of Harry fucking him into the mattress.

 

If there was something that Draco had agreed to in those last few weeks Potter was good at sex. No. Not good. He was exceptional. For Harry, there was no wrong time to feel pleasure. Knowing he had been his first man did wonders for Draco's ego. He didn’t know if he was the only one, and thinking about it made him thoughtful, but he didn’t want to have second thoughts about what Potter did or didn’t do when he wasn’t with him. It was his life, after all.

 

Besides, when he was being undressed by Harry’s dark hands and had his cock swallowed by his lips, Draco had lost his line of thought. Potter still wasn’t great at sucking cock, but he certainly struggled to get better. Draco grabbed him by the hair, but let him follow his own pace. Potter gripped his thighs, opening his legs and stopping his mouth for a moment. Draco stared at him for a while, grinning as Potter reached for the pot of lubricant before returning to what he was doing with even more determination.

 

Draco moaned loudly as he felt two wet fingers entering his body, and spread his legs even wider, pushing against Harry's mouth involuntarily. He didn’t choke, so Draco didn’t stop, lost in the delicious pleasure he was feeling. Harry was coming and going in the rhythm of his fingers, and when the third entered, less lubricated than the others, Draco lost himself. His body arched and he was struck by an orgasm that made his toes curl, his hands tight on the sheets and his body arching out of bed. Harry didn’t stop sucking him through his orgasm, swallowing every drop of his pleasure, making Draco see stars.

 

When it was over, Draco was melted against the mattress, but Harry’s fingers kept coming in and out of his body. He smiled, raising his legs and holding them under his thighs, displaying himself unashamedly. Potter's breathing got even heavier. With the help of more lubricant, he stuck the fourth finger, and Draco moaned too loud.

 

“Do you like it?” Harry asked, his voice sounding hoarse and a little unsure. Draco nodded, encouraging him to continue, even though he was incapable of any coherent thinking. “Do you like to know that you’ll be open and wet... To be used as I want?”

 

"Ah! Y-yes!” Draco moaned, his fingers pressing on his thighs so hard they marked them. “I want to be... Ah... Really open to you...!”

 

"So open that only my cock is going to be good enough to fuck you?" Harry looked more imposing now, and Draco arched his body once more. He had never been much in love with dirty talk or possessiveness, but the pleasure was spurting through his body, and he found himself agreeing once more.

 

“Yes...! Only your huge cock will fit in me...!” He moaned, narrowing his eyes as one leg escaped his sweaty hand. Potter pushed it against Draco’s chest with his free hand, making Draco practically bend back against himself, thrusting his four fingers even deeper into his body. Draco roared with pleasure, his cock once again hard and dripping over his abdomen.

 

"I'm going to fuck you really slow, Malfoy... And I'm going to cum so deep inside you that when I fuck you next week, you'll still be wet with my spunk,” Potter growled close to his ear and Draco felt his legs tremble uncontrollably. _Merlin_ , he knew that what Potter was saying was physically impossible, but his cock believed it to be true and was throbbing furiously, begging for relief.

 

“P-Potter...!” He begged, but Harry didn’t stop with his fingers.

 

"No. _Potter_ , no."

 

“Ugh...! H-Ha... Aah... _Bloody H--_! Ha-Haaaag...!” Draco was trying. He really was trying, but either he was talking, or he controlled himself so he wouldn’t just come with only Harry’s fingers. - _Haaa ~ rry!_ Please...!”

 

"Please what, my little dragon...?" The damn sadist provoked, and Draco felt the orgasm begin to rise inside him. He thought he would have to give up the need to cum while Harry fucked him.

 

"Fuck me..." Draco snapped, hoarse and low. “Fuck me... _Fuck me_... _**Fuck m—ah**_! Aaah! _Harry_...!”

 

He was about to explode when the fingers left his body and the energy dissipated, causing his body to shake so violently that Potter had to push him down with both hands and enter him at once without the help of his hands. He didn’t need it, though. His cock was so hard and Draco so deliciously open that it was a relatively easy task.

 

Despite being prepared by his fingers, Draco felt Harry’s cock open him even more, and that was when he lost himself. He shrieked, involuntarily moving between them two, with strong jets of cum, painting him with pleasure all over his chest and neck, his nails pressing into his thighs with such force that they sank into his skin. Harry didn’t stop, however. He was thrusting against him, and Draco managed to open his eyes just as Harry gave in to his own orgasm, his chest and face red with excess blood, his arms still pushing Draco’s legs and a guttural moan coming out from his throat.

 

Potter let his legs free and slowly Draco lowered them, feeling his back hurt a little, but his body was so exhausted that he barely noticed when he dozed off in Potter's bed once again, even before Harry could get out of him.

 

At least this time he didn’t faint for hours, only minutes. When he woke up, Potter was at his side, still sweaty, with a faint smile and watching him.

 

“Did you like our day?” Harry asked, and Draco let out a half-weary, half-aching laugh. God, his whole body was begging him not to move, but he felt good. Truly good, as if nothing could touch him at that moment.

 

"If every trip with you ends in sex, Potter, your friends must be very happy," Draco teased, and Harry laughed, pinching him lightly on his waist.

 

"None of them have an arse like yours, so I don’t really want to end the day like this with them," Potter said, biting Draco's shoulder and giving him a huge, satisfied smile.

 

Draco couldn’t deny that, so he laughed and accepted the slow kiss he received.

 

After a few minutes enjoying the rest of the sexual energy he still had with a few kisses, Draco got dressed and went home. He took a long bath, and almost slept in the bathtub. When he lay down in his enormous bed, only in his boxers, he fell asleep almost immediately, but a smile still gleamed on his face.

 

|| _I don't know how it led to this_  
I felt a tremor in your kiss  
Earth shakes, and I answer it, my body realigns  
It's too much, I cannot handle this  
I taste the pleasure on your lips  
You make planets start to spin  
I'm ready to ignite||

 

_**\- Meteorite – Years and Years** _

 

“You look happy,” Pansy said when Draco met her the next night so they could go to a new nightclub with Theo and Blaise.

 

"’Well fucked’ is more accurate,” Draco said, laughing. They were walking from the apparition point to the nightclub. The black leather trousers were tight around the blond’s legs and he practically paraded with his open jacket with a transparent shirt inside. He was so excited that he wanted to dance and drink all night.

 

"Wasn’t it your date with Potter yesterday?" Theodore asked, and Draco snorted.

 

“We watched the game, and then we grabbed a cheap dinner and fucked until we passed out. It was a good day,” He said, smiling smugly to Theo, who shook his head.

 

"Don’t you think about anything beyond sex?" Blaise asked, and Draco looked at him with disdain.

 

“Do you?”

 

" _Merlin_! Men really have their brain on their dick heads,” Pansy rolled her eyes, and Draco hugged her by the shoulders.

 

"And you have yours on your tits. That's why your clothes have so much cleavage,” He said, cupping one of her breasts as she tried to escape his grip, laughing and beating his hand.

 

“Can you stop playing around? I know you wanted a pair of these beauties, but unfortunately, you were born with a pair of balls,” She pushed him over the head, making him stumble, but he was still laughing.

 

"Why do you let him touch you, but not us?" Theodore asked indignantly.

 

"Because when I pick them up, my prick doesn’t get hard,” Draco replied simply, and Blaise laughed.

 

They entered the club, and Draco let the rhythm take him away. He danced, lost his count of how many drinks he had or how many boys he kissed. He danced over the bar, lost his jacket, and gave Pansy a lapdance, who put galleons in his pockets. Draco felt truly happy. Free.  
Merlin, he felt _free_. And that was the best feeling in the world.

 

The days passed, and he found himself in a predictable routine. Every Friday he met with Potter, went to a restaurant or ate fast food, and always ended the day in bed. The brunet was getting better and better at giving head, and more and more sure of himself in sex. Draco realized at each passing week that Potter was full of kinks and that he tried to perform them whenever possible.

 

From time to time they met in the clubs and danced together out of rhythm. Potter wasn’t really a good dancer, but it was nice to fret against him and feel his hands touching his body without shame. They usually left the club separated. Potter always went first, and Draco much, much later with someone in his arm for a sex session that wasn’t nearly as intense as with Potter, but that made him sleep smiling.

 

It was late November when Draco began to notice something different. Not strange, but different. Since the beginning of the month, he had reduced the number of his encounters with other people but exponentially increased his encounters with Potter. And they were hanging out in the daytime. And they were not always having sex.

 

Draco tried not to think too much about it. From time to time, he was still coming home with someone who wasn’t Potter, and even though the two were talking much more, going to restaurants and diners together, it was just the natural course of things. Draco wasn’t worried. He thought Potter was hot, the sex was great, and he had a 23 and a half centimetres prick. It was all Draco needed in his life.

 

|| _Is it desire_  
Or is it love that I'm feeling for you?  
I want desire  
'Cause your love only gets me abused

 _Is it desire (is it desire)_  
Or is it love that I'm feeling for you?  
I want desire  
I wanna see what you're willing to lose||

_**\- Desire – Years and Years** _

 

Draco wouldn’t say he was questioning his silent agreement with Potter. No. He was just wondering if they were caring too much about each other. Harry once questioned why he was still going to the clubs, and Draco thought it was a very stupid question to ask. _Because he could_. Because it was good. Because he was young, rich and had his brain in his private parts. At the same time, he wanted to ask exactly the same question to Potter. He wanted to know why the hell he was still going to the clubs.

 

He never saw Potter dancing with people other than himself. Did he also have dates with people other than Draco? Did he have something as intense as the sex they had with someone else? Was Potter just using Draco to find himself out? It was possible.

 

Draco didn’t want to admit it, but sometimes - just a few times - those questions left him up too long at night. When he thought of Potter with someone else, he felt a sting of jealousy going through his body. A wave he tried to control at all costs. He couldn’t ask for fidelity to someone who wasn’t his boyfriend, much less when he offered none to anyone. Still, the feeling of selfishness was there. He had Potter in his bed and didn’t want to share that sexual talent with anyone. He didn’t like the idea of someone having Potter as intimately as he had, and that made him nervous.

 

So the solution was always more drink, more clubs, more guys. In January, Draco spent the New Year fucking with what’s-his-name, who had a lovely fox tattoo on his left thigh, which Draco looked at for a long time before actually performing a blowjob on the guy lying beneath him. The sex wasn’t as good as with Potter, but he always had Fridays so he didn’t mind picking up some stupid guys while he waited.

 

By the second week of January, however, Harry said he couldn’t meet him on that Friday. He had a celebration of something that Draco didn’t pay attention to with his friends and the Weasleys, so couldn’t hang out with him. Unless Draco wanted to go.

 

Draco obviously went to drink and fuck strangers.

 

Late in the evening, however, as he undressed to bed, Draco desperately tried to remember what Harry was celebrating. Whatever it was, now he had realized he wanted to be a part of it, but he simply said ‘congratulations, Potter’ when the brunet had told him, then refused the invitation.

 

On the next week, however, he was determined to know what he had lost. Potter met him in the Fairy Finger, as usual, and they drank a few pints and talked among their groups of friends. After months of this same routine, they no longer felt uncomfortable between the two tables, and Draco needed to be restrained from being shocked to see Ginny Weasley sitting on Blaise Zabini's lap as if she were a queen sitting on a throne.

 

Well, Draco had his own throne.

 

At the moment, he was looking at Harry's face with fascination. Harry's cock was practically buried in his throat, and Draco bobbed his head up and down, feeling his jaw ache with the repetitive motion, his mouth opened almost impossibly, his tongue curling around his thick cock, the bittersweet taste of Harry lingering in his mouth. His fingernails were buried in the other's muscular thighs, and he didn’t control a groan whenever Harry tugged lightly at his hair, lost in his own pleasure. His plump lips were parted and his eyes closed in sheer delight. Draco felt something in his stomach, like butterflies, when he thought that it was _he_ who caused these sensations in Harry. It was he who gave this pleasure to him.

 

Draco wanted more, though. He wanted to have Potter completely at his mercy. So he pulled away, his breathing unsteady. It caught the attention of Potter, who opened his eyes and swallowed.

 

"Dray..." he whispered hoarsely, and Draco almost came just from hearing his voice so filled with pleasure.

 

" ’Arry..." Draco tried to speak, but his tongue was heavy. He swallowed his own saliva, thick, with a taste that was definitely Harry. “Fuck my throat...”

 

"Draay... No..." Harry tried to deny, his cock throbbing painfully between Draco's fingers. “Don’t ask for that... A-Ahh...”

 

“I need it... Harry... Fuck my throat... Fuck my mouth just like you do with my arse... Fuck my mouth, let me swallow your cum... Harry...” He begged, and Harry squinted, holding Draco's hair one more time and thrusting his cock into his anxious mouth. He only waited for Draco to look at him, giving him permission, before he moved his hips with vigour, holding the sides of Draco’s head and thrusting his cock to the end.

 

Draco had to concentrate so he wouldn’t choke and take it all, but he didn’t need to wait long. Harry squirmed on the couch, emptying himself so deep into Draco's throat that the blond couldn’t feel his taste on his tongue.

 

Draco pulled away, smiling as he licked his mouth clean, his ego growing wonderfully as he saw Harry lost, staring at the ceiling vaguely as if he had used drugs. Well... Sex was kind of a drug, really. Draco knew how addicted he was.

 

Draco climbed up on Harry, straddling his hips, and closed his eyes as Harry's warm arms wrapped around his naked body, pulling him to himself and spent a few seconds with his eyes closed, listening to Draco's heartbeat. The blond smiled, stroking Harry's incredibly soft hair. Draco had come twice that night. The first time, Harry had made him sit on his lap, his back to him, and fucked him with his fingers while he spoke what Draco thought were dirty words in _parseltongue_ in his ear. Draco didn’t understand it at all, but he had never been so turned on with Harry speaking in his ear as at that moment.

 

Then, taking advantage of the fact that Draco was stretched and slick, Harry made him ride his cock until he came again, shivering and screaming. Only then did he ask Draco to suck him until he finally had his turn. Who would Draco be to deny it to him?

 

Now that he was feeling really good in that embrace, Draco realised that it was a wonderful moment to find out what Harry had done to be celebrated. Well, it had been easier than he'd expected.

 

"Hey, could we change our dates to Saturday?" Harry asked, moving his face just to look at Draco’s eyes.

 

"But why?" Draco asked, somewhat confused. "Everybody's there on Friday.”

 

“I know. But I talked to the others and all, and they said it was fine. I mean, next month I'm going to start training at St. Mungo's and it's going to be a very tight schedule, you know? They said that the first year of the Healer training is the worst. Being a Mediwizard is easier, but... You know...” He smiled, and Draco looked at that crooked little tooth before turning his eyes to the man’s eyes.

 

He had passed the tests to St. Mungo’s Healer training. Merlin, how had he achieved this when he was so bad at potions?

 

_Healer._

 

Woa, good. Draco was speechless for a moment. But, well, they weren’t boyfriends. It wasn’t his obligation to have attended any party with Potter and his friends, after all. “It's all right. If my friends don’t mind...”

 

"I talked to Pansy and Ginny talked to Blaise. It's okay with them,” Harry smirked. “They were at the party. Last week.”

 

“Oh,” Draco rose from his lap, a little awkwardly. He felt his cheeks warm and hoped that the faint light of the candles he had conjured wasn’t enough to show how embarrassed he was. He began to look for his clothes on the floor and dress them. "Well, all right then. See you next Saturday?”

 

“If you can,” Harry said, and Draco thought his voice sounded a little dry. “Why don’t you stay here?"

 

“I'm tired. And I drank too much,” Draco laughed as he buttoned his trousers and pulled on his shirt. “I'm going home to sleep.”

 

"You can sleep here," Potter insisted.

 

“I like my bed.”

 

Potter didn’t say anything. In fact, he also stood up, put on his own clothes and approached Draco, kissing him on the cheek without looking into his eyes.

 

“See you next week, then.”

 

Draco couldn’t sleep that night. He was already getting frustrated with this whole situation. Potter looked happy and satisfied in one moment, and then he looked cold, as if he hadn’t come enough. It made Draco wonder what the hell was going on between them. Maybe it was stress on Harry’s part. He knew that, in order to get into healer training, he had to do a complicated three-step test. He was probably still stressed about it. Draco hugged his pillow, thinking he was lucky he didn’t need to work.

 

He knew Potter had a considerable fortune. He thought of why Potter needed to work, but he didn’t spend much time thinking about it. If Potter wanted to ruin his youth in a hospital, it was not his business.

 

He didn’t care at all.

 

Potter's weekly meetings went back to what they were. At least Draco thought so. They met, now on Saturday, laughed, talked, drank, went to Potter's house - he had had a little panic attack when Draco mentioned visiting the Manor - they had sex and Draco went home.

 

On February 14, however, something changed. Draco didn’t really think about the consequence of his actions that day. The meeting on Saturday had been canceled because most of his friends wanted to go out with their respective boyfriends and girlfriends, and singles ones did what they wanted. Draco didn’t really like Valentine's Day, but the romantic aura of the day made him decide to go out at night. He went to the pub, drank some pints, and met a boy who had light brown hair, almost blond. Draco decided he would go home with him. Almost half past midnight, when Draco was already half drunk and sitting more on his evening date than the bench, Potter appeared.

 

Draco's first thought was that he was delicious. Those jeans were tight in the places, and Draco loved that black zippered leather jacket. The dark-haired man smiled when he saw him, but his smile died when he saw the boy Draco was with.

 

Potter came closer, looking unsure, and Draco greeted him.

 

“Hey, Potter! Were you abandoned today as well?” He asked, and Potter looked confused.

 

"I thought Saturday was our day," He said in a low tune, and Draco frowned.

 

"But wasn’t it canceled?"

 

“I meant... Well, I thought you were...”

 

"Oh, you thought I was going to be with you?" Draco seemed to understand and muttered an apology. "Gods, I'm sorry. I should have warned you. Now I am with... hm...”

 

“Ivan,” The boy answered, and Draco snorted.

 

“Ivan,” He said to Potter. "I'll send you a gift box of chocolates, okay?" Draco teased and lifted a hand to touch the man's face, but Potter looked hurt.

 

“Nevermind,” He licked his lips, and Draco wanted to kiss him. Maybe he would kiss him. “Listen... Can I talk to you?”

 

“Hm? Yeah, spill it out,” Draco tilted the drink in his hand, drinking the rest of its content with three large sips, then blinking at Potter.

 

Harry put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor for a few seconds before pressing his lips together.

 

“I want to stop,” He said simply, and Draco frowned.

 

“Stop what?”

 

"Our meetings, Malfoy. It’s over. Let's just keep meeting with everyone else, shall we?” He said, and Draco looked confused.

 

"You mean... No sex?" And then he laughed, a little nervous, shaking his head. "Potter, you're going to die without sex."

 

"I didn’t say I'm not going to have sex. I said I won’t have it with you.”

 

Potter's words hurt as if they were a direct punch in his nose, but Draco smiled, shrugging.

 

"Well, if that's what you want..."

 

"It's not what I want. But that's what I need. I won’t have time to play games anymore, Malfoy,” He sounded angry, and Draco nodded.

 

"You're going to be a healer. Yes, of course. No time to fuck. Well, I hope you enjoy your time. I will certainly enjoy it today,” Draco said. His eyes sting, but it must have been the smoke. Of course, it had been the smoke.

 

“Hope so,” Potter tapped on his shoulder and turned to leave. Draco wanted to ask him to stay. He wanted to turn around and tell Ivan that he had other plans. He wanted to at least feel the fabric of that jacket in his hand again. Something told him that this would be the last time he would be able to feel it.

 

“Potter!” He cried, in an act of courage. Harry turned, his green eyes shining with some emotion that Draco couldn’t understand. “I'm gonna miss your prick!”

 

Potter laughed. From that distance, Draco couldn’t see his crooked little tooth. Potter turned again and walked away.

 

Draco wanted to die.

 

|| _You can run free, I won't hold it against ya_  
_You do your thing, never wanted a future_  
 _Fuck if I knew how to put it romantic_  
 _Speaking my truth, there's no need to panic_ ||

_**\- Cool Girl – Tove Lo** _

 

It wasn’t hurting. Not at all. Draco was at his table with the other Slytherins, his best shoes on his feet, a drink in his hand and a plate of horrible chips in the middle of the table. He stared at the table across the bar, watching _him_. Potter looked happy. He looked so happy that Draco wanted to get his pint bottle throw it at him. How could he be smiling like that when Draco felt miserable?

 

"Soon Potter will choke on an olive if you don’t stop looking at him like that," He heard Theodore's voice, distant, and rolled his eyes, drinking from his bottle.

 

"Maybe he'll stop being an arsehole after a near-death experience," That was his answer. Draco grabbed a handful of those awful chips and stuffed his mouth, chewing aggressively. Blaise, damn traitor, was at the other table with his tongue inside Weaselette's throat. Draco wanted to kill them all.

 

"Wow, you need sex. I never thought I'd tell you this, but after Potter decided that he didn’t want your skinny arse, you are horrible,” Pansy said, and Draco threw his chips on her, and she screamed in disgust.

 

“I just don’t understand! He said he didn’t have time, but he's been drinking like a bastard. On a Saturday!” Draco complained, placing his bottle on the table. “Fucking liar.”

 

"Well, you couldn’t expect him to play games with you forever, could you?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not everyone wants to just have fun.”

 

"I don’t know anyone who would prefer a household life if they could choose something else,” Draco said, and Pansy pointed at the other table with a chip before she shoved it into her mouth.

 

"A bunch of Gryffindors and a traitor, same shit,” He grunted, turning his face to Harry again. Well, he'd never asked for a relationship. Really, Draco didn’t have any reason to be so upset.

 

“Come on, I'm tired you moping around,” Pansy held him by his wrist. "Let's go clubbing and dancing until we pass out. Theo, pay the bill. Draco will drink until Potter is detoxified from his system.”

 

Draco laughed. As he left, his eyes met Potter's, and perhaps there was sadness in his look. But if he had really seen it, well... He didn’t remember very well. After that night, he never remembered very well.

 

|| _Pretty boys, they didn't teach me things I didn't know_  
_They don't have the thing that I need, but they don't know they don't_  
 _You got that old thing about ya, and I can't hide my feels_  
 _Pretty girls, they always die out, need another sex appeal_  
 _I said come on, zero fucks about it_  
 _Come on, I know I'm gonna get hurt_  
 _Come on, zero fucks about it_  
 _Come on_  
 _Keep playing my heartstrings faster and faster_  
 _You can be just what I want, my true disaster_ ||

 

_**\- True Disaster – Tove Lo** _

 

**September 2004**

 

The painting of the ceiling was fading. Draco was dying to get his wand, which was somewhere on top of his folded clothes, and peel it. He felt his partner's breath on his neck, and his own body moving in the rhythm of the body on top of his. Draco had his legs spread open, his feet on the bed, concentrating on the paint so he wouldn’t think about the light burn between his legs. Gods, that was horrible.

 

"You know, you can touch my cock. It won’t fall,” Draco said, and the guy on top of him lifted his head. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green when Draco asked him out, but now they looked like an odious mossy tone. Maybe he sobered up enough to notice that.

 

“Oh, ok,” What’s-his-name nodded, breathing heavily. Draco rolled his eyes, then closed them to see if he'd forget the paint peeling off the ceiling. The movements returned, along with a hand that now moved up and down his half-hard prick.

 

Draco bit his lower lip, concentrating. Big, warm hands were moving all over him, and they touched him as if they had been made for it.

 

"Come on, kitty," a voice said in his ear. It was hoarse, and at the same time, controlling and gentle. "You're so beautiful when you come... Come for me."

 

Draco opened his lips, letting out a low moan. The phantom sensation that those memories caused him slowly brought him to an orgasm. His body twitched slightly, a weak moan dying on his lips, and he soon felt the other man's body trembling on top of him. He pushed him away, wincing as their bodies parted.

 

"Are you sure these Muggle things really work?" The man asked, pulling on the rubber that protected his cock.

 

“Of course it works,” It was Draco's answer. In a few seconds, he was already dressed and apparating home. When he reappeared in his room, he felt sick. He was definitely still under the influence of alcohol, but not enough. He left his room, going to the cellar and grabbing a bottle of wine.

 

As he was walking back to his rooms, his eyes fixed on an edition of the Daily Prophet. Harry Potter was on the front page, which was strange because it had been some time since he had appeared in the paper. It wasn’t the main subject, however, only a small note in the left corner, indicating that the report was in the Daily Life area of the newspaper. Draco picked it up, reading the headline.

 

_**Boy Who Survived Twice starts second semester in St Mungo’s with high marks!** _

 

Draco smiled with his lips tight, watching Harry's smiling face in the small image. They hadn’t talked to each other in months. After the first strange and uncomfortable attempts, they ended up moving away. There was no official request, of course. It happened. It just happened.

 

Draco felt his eyes burn and swallowed hard. He set the bottle of wine on the table, looking for the report in the newspaper. When he found it, he carefully tore out the photo that illustrated the material. When he had the picture in his hands, he wiped his wet cheek, grabbed the bottle once again, and, after putting the picture in a safe place, drank it until he forgot that he had seen that image in the first place.

 

|| _I, I'm not the prettiest you've ever seen_  
But I have my moments, I have my moments  
Not the flawless one, I've never been  
But I have my moments, I have my moments  
I can get a little drunk, I get into all the drugs  
But on good days, I am charming as fuck ||

 

_**\- Moments – Tove Lo** _

 

**December 2004**

 

“Draco!” He heard Pansy's exasperated voice screaming, but he didn’t care. His bare feet moved over the Buffet table, avoiding the food plates as he rocked in the rhythm of the loud music that played. He could hear Blaise's laughter somewhere, but his mind was in a delicious limbo. In his head he had Ginevra Weasley’s veil – or would it be Zabini, now? – and it gave him an air of purity together with his expensive white robes.

 

“Leave him be, Pans! Look how happy he is,” Blaise said, and Draco laughed at him, holding the sides of the veil and spinning, his hips moving to the rhythm of the song.

 

"You," Draco said, opening his eyes, still dancing as he looked at Blaise. “are an idiot! But at least you’re going to have sex every day! Every. _Fucking. **Day**_!” Blaise laughed, and Draco heard Ginevra's laughter somewhere alongside him. He looked around and was surprised to see that she was up there too. "You're a beautiful bride. Even though you are ginger and freckled.”

 

"Thank you, Malfoy. You're a beautiful bride. Even though you are barefoot and drunk,” She answered, and he laughed, taking her by the hands and pulling her to dance with him.

 

He laughed, his mind a mess. Deep inside him, though, he wondered if the guy he'd found sticking his tongue into Harry Potter's mouth sucked cock as well as he himself did.

 

Draco hoped not.

 

|| _Denying_  
Saying 'Time will heal'  
Keep lying  
To make me feel  
I'm OK

 _So you believe_  
I'd forget you  
Seriously?

_Are you kidding me?_

_You're out of your mind_  
To think that I could keep you  
Out of mine. ||

_**\- Out of mind – Tove Lo** _

 

**February 14, 2005**

 

Draco was alone in the Fairy Finger. He was staring blankly at the glass in his hand. It was late. He wondered when Pansy would walk through the doors and pull him by the ears. He wiped his cheeks, a tear falling into the drink and making little waves.

 

It had been a year. _Merlin!_ , an entire year in which he was feeling utterly miserable. It had been almost two years since the first kiss.

 

Draco licked his dry lips, slipping a hand into the back pocket of his trousers and picking up a pack of pills. It was just muscle relaxant. It wasn’t a problem, was it? He was tense and needed it. Draco pushed the plastic over the tablets, putting three in his palm. On second thought, he added another. Granger had assured him they were good and only took a little longer to take effect because they were weaker than a potion.

 

Well, he didn’t need a prescription for those. And Merlin protected him from having to pass anywhere near St. Mungo's. He stuffed the pills into his mouth and swallowed with the help of the drink, grimacing and shoving the remaining carton back into his pocket.

 

He waited a few minutes while circling his thumb over the top of the glass. He noticed when a handsome red-haired boy sat next to him, but he wasn’t really paying attention. It all seemed kind of in slow motion. He smiled, though, because he wanted to be polite.

 

The world died out for a few seconds, and when it returned, Draco was looking at Pansy. He was in a very light place. Hm... It looked like her new flat.

 

“Hey, Pans,” He said huskily, and she let out a strangled cry. He watched as she lifted the carton with the pills, swinging them in front of his face.

 

"How many of these did you take?" It was a question, but it felt like a stab. His head was hurting so much and he vaguely noticed that her eyes were red.

 

"Two, three... I don’t know, Pans. It's just muscle relaxant,” He said, shaking a dismissive hand.

 

"You passed out for almost 24 hours, you idiot!" She yelled at him, tossing the pills on the floor. "If I have you exaggerating on these things again, I will put you in a Center, Draco Malfoy!" Pansy threatened. "And get up. Theo is coming to dinner and you're going to help me do it.”

 

Draco yawned, turning on the couch to escape the light from the windows. He massaged his temple. 24 hours, huh? If he took six of these, would he sleep for two days?

 

|| _Baby, listen please_  
I'm not on drugs, I'm not on drugs,  
I'm just in love (Oh)

 _Baby, don't you see?_  
I'm not on drugs, I'm not on drugs,  
I'm just in love

 _You're high enough for me._ ||

_**\- Not on Drugs – Tove Lo** _

 

**February 14, 2007**

 

Draco buttoned his shirt, but left the top two buttons open. He moved away from the mirror to get an overview of his body, liking what he saw. He smiled to himself, but the smile disappeared quickly. Draco touched his cheeks, realizing how thin he looked. A few years ago, he had pink cheeks and flesh enough to hide his angular bones, but now the lines of his face were sharp, and his eyes deep, with dark circles around it. He bit his lower lip then let out a sigh, putting on perfume and getting his wand. He wasn’t as handsome as he was before, big deal. He was still rich, and there was an idiot on his feet every night.

 

Pansy had said the day before that Draco needed to calm down. Well, he had no reason for that, had he? She was just saying that because she now had a string ring around her ring finger and was probably being licked by Lovegood every day. _Merlin_. She kept saying that he was going to die alone and that soon he would be the only bachelor in the group. And it was true. Theodore had been hanging around the Greengrass sisters for some time, and he didn’t even want to think about Blaise. The son of a bitch was already breeding. Not that he could blame him. The fact that Ginevra looked like a miniature whale only proved they had sex, but that only made Zabini judge him constantly. He wasn’t even going to the club meetings anymore, only appearing in that damn pub.

 

Draco had never gone to the Fairy Finger again. In fact, the last time he'd been there was on this very significant date the previous year. His drunken, stupid feet always drove him there.

 

He walked over to his dresser, picking up some potion flasks from it. They were small, just the right measure that he needed of soothing potions. He took one, opening the lid and swallowing its contents. He had spent a few hours preparing them, and besides being strong enough, which was what he wanted, Draco had a proof that he was still good at it, even though it had been centuries since he had made any kind of potion. He picked up some other little flasks, put them in his pocket and left the room.

 

He went down the stairs to the living room where his mother was sitting with a book in her hands.

 

“Are you leaving?” She asked, raising her head, and he frowned.

 

"Yes," Draco said simply. She had never questioned his nights out – sure, she had never seen him completely drunk, though they had had horrible fights when his excesses appeared in the papers. But there were so many of them that the Prophet no longer bothered to publish old news. In any case, she hardly saw him leave or arrive.

 

"Draco, it is Wednesday. How about you stay at home today? The elves are going to make a marvellous dinner,” She said, setting the book aside and getting on her feet. Draco realised she was thinner as well. How had he not realised how her hands were bony? He used to look at Narcissa's hands all the time. He always loved the fact that his hands were the same as hers.

 

"Mother, it's Valentine's Day. I won’t stay at home mopping around,” He said, rolling his eyes and waving his wand, but didn’t apparate as wished. He tried again, with the same result. He took a deep breath, the potion he'd just taken helping him to stay in control. “Mother. The wards.”

 

"Draco, I cannot let you live like this,” She said, lifting a hand and touching him on the shoulder, making him jerk away. Narcissa looked extremely hurt by that attitude, and Draco felt his stomach ache. He used to be his mother's best friend, what the bloody hell had happened in the meantime?

 

He had fallen in love, broken his heart and lost his mind. Somewhere in the middle, Draco had turned away from the person who had done everything to protect him. Guilt grabbed him by his inside, rustling his intestines and squeezing his heart so tightly he wanted to jump from the porch. His will was to break everything. Bloody hell!

 

"I'm not a child anymore. I do what I want,” He said roughly, and Narcissa shook her head.

 

"That's right, Draco. You're not a child anymore. You are a man of almost 26, who does not have a job, a boyfriend, a hobby, nothing! You have nothing but your drunkenness and its inconsequence! This will stop now, Draco Malfoy, even if I have to stop you by force!” She said, her face becoming stern, tears stuck in her red streamed eyes.

"And who's to blame?" He asked wickedly, feeling the anger rise to his head. Draco pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow, practically rubbing the dark mark on his mother's face. "Whose fault is it that I have this shite on my arm? Who's to blame, Mother?!”

 

She narrowed her eyes, turning her face away from him, unable to see the mark on her son's arm.

 

"Draco, I did what I could..."

 

"You didn’t do enough," He spat, his words full of poison. "He still put it on my skin, didn’t he? He made me almost kill several people. He made me torture others. He made me sit in the same room as him and lick his fingers,” Draco laughed nervously. "I think I deserve to get out of this hell every now and then, don’t I?" And without waiting for any reply, he headed out the front door. He would walk the ten-minute walk to the gates and apparate from outside.

 

Who the hell did she think she was to lock him at home like a spoiled child?

 

_Merlin!_

 

Two hours later, Draco was slowly moving his head to the beat of the song. His feet were bare – he didn’t know where his boots had gone – and he watched the couples around him. Celestina Warbeck was singing at the top of her lungs on the radio, the same song he remembered Potter singing on the karaoke all those years ago, which was off that day because of Valentine's Day. He had already taken two more vials of the potion, but he still felt nervous.

 

"Are you still going to drink this?" The bartender asked, indicating the almost empty bottle beside the blonde.

 

“Hm. Yes, I will,” Draco said, blankly, taking the bottle by the neck and drinking it all at once. The liquid trickled down his throat, and he didn’t even notice when he emptied it. He pushed the bottle from his face, frowning at it.

 

He looked into the middle of the bar, where some couples danced. Couples... Well, he thought it was couples. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t quite tell what was happening.

 

He rose from the bench where he was, stumbling towards the loo, feeling his head spin. He didn’t know very well how he arrived, but he soon opened one of the stalls, closing the door and trying to lock it, but with no success. He decided that he didn’t mind, and sat in the toilet, without lifting the lid. He lifted one leg and pushed it against the door to shut it.

 

He hugged himself and let his pain go, his tears dripping and his face turning into the image of pain. He felt his lips tear, dry, but he couldn’t care less. Heavens, he'd never felt so much pain. That day was always the worst day of the year. It was the worst day of his life. Why hadn’t he simply done what his heart said and left with Harry? Why didn’t he grab the brunet's jacket when he could and said he wanted to leave with him?

 

Painfully, Draco remembered his name all the time. Ivan. He wasn’t even good, he had bad jokes and the sex was so empty that Draco decided to leave before he even came. He had traded Harry for it, and because he ‘could’. Because he didn’t want Potter to think he was important to be with him on Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day was to be spent with who you loved. Draco didn’t love anyone.

 

At least he tried to convince himself.

 

It had been years ago, but the disappointment, guilt, and regret of his actions had never faded. Never. He leaned his head against the wall behind him, sobbing. Even his mother. Merlin, he was horrible. He had hurt her so much. What kind of son was he? What kind of son hurts so much a mother who sacrificed her own life for himself? She was right. He had nothing. He had no purpose, he had no future, he had no reason to be alive. He had absolutely _no_ reason to be alive.

 

"Why did you take me out of the fire, then?" He asked between sobs, into the void, without waiting for an answer.

 

And without thinking, he took the four small vials in his front pocket and removed the lid of the four of them. He just wanted to stop it. Stop the world and sleep until the pain was over. He turned the potions in his mouth and swallowed it like water. His burned tongue didn’t even taste the strong potion that instantly doped him. The vials fell to the floor, breaking. His leg slipped from the door to the floor and the door opened slightly. He let his heavy body slip. Not that he could hold himself, of course.

That was the best feeling in the world. No sound, no pain, no heartache. Draco felt as if he were sinking into the Black Lake. It was cold, dark and soft... So soft, and he couldn’t breathe. If only that day he could have told Harry how much he was in love. How happy he was to see his smile, how much he loved his tender gestures and worried questions. If only Draco had accepted his hugs and affection when it was offered. If only he'd said he loved him.

 

Everything was empty.

 

_[ Why don't you tell me, in your own words, why you did what you did?_

_Was it the narcotics?]_

 

Draco felt his body move from side to side. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he could feel the movements.

 

_(Maybe.)_

 

They put him on something soft. Was it his bed?

 

_[Were you unhappy?]_

 

There were screams. People talking loudly.

 

_(No.)_

 

A siren.

 

_[Was it him?]_

 

They put something on his face. He wanted to beat the person away, but his hand was stuck.

 

_(No.)_

 

There was a light over his eyes, and he tried to pull it away, but his body was so, so heavy...

 

_[Well, then what was it?]_

 

He felt magic over him. More movement. Hands.

 

_(I don’t know what you mean.)_

 

His eyes opened a little. Light. A lot of light. He closed them again tightly. He felt his body lighten, more movement.

 

_[I know what's wrong with you._

_You're just... broken... inside._

_You never did anything right._

_You're fucked up._

_Say it with me.]_

 

Draco managed to open his eyes slightly, and though it was all foggy, he could see a ceiling. Lights passed quickly through his line of sight. Someone was pushing him somewhere, in a hurry. A man. Draco could see the gleam of spectacle lenses in the light. He had beautiful dark hair. He felt himself falling into a park, so, so green...

 

_(I'm broken._

_I never did anything right._

_I'm fucked up.)_

 

The man looked at him. The ceiling lights made him look like an angel falling from the sky. He said something, but Draco was lost in the worry so evident in that river of emeralds on his face. Was it possible that someone had emeralds instead of eyes? Draco was sure he did. He smiled. Maybe he was dead. That was it... He had died, and was in heaven, where Harry was an angel and would take him to a soft bed where they would sleep late, and Draco would wake up looking at his smile, and realise once again that he had a crooked, adorable tooth, and would count all the freckles on his nose, and touch his hair with his fingers, kiss all his scars and hug him against his chest. Harry loved to hear his heart, Draco knew. Harry always liked it. He closed his eyes and let himself be taken.

 

Finally, he was dying.

 

_**[Do you feel better?]** _


	2. I'll be the one to run for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for taking SO MUCH to translate this fic. It was really very difficult to translate it, and I know it will have a lot of mistakes, and I apologise for them before you read it. Anyway, it is one of my favourite fics I've ever written, and I hope you like it even though it's not perfectly translated. Thank you all of you who asked me to continue and sent me comments, You are all amazing <3

_||I don't really wanna stop myself  
Nobody's gonna tell me I need help,  
Are you coming over soon?  
I meet you at the darkest time  
You hold me, and I have to shut my eyes  
I'm shy. Can I be what you like? ||  
  
**\- Take Shelter – Years and Years**_

****

****

There was light, and it hurt his eyes, but this time it wasn’t accompanied by a horrible headache. He still felt heavy and a little groggy, but it was good to wake up without a hangover for the first time in long. He lifted his hands and passed them over his eyes to wipe the sleepiness away, and sat down, looking around.

  
  
Draco was definitely in a hospital bed. In front of his bed was a large window, and its white curtains were open, letting the light in. There was a vase of flowers on a small table, an armchair that looked comfortable, a radio on the corner table, and a clock. It was a quarter past eight in the morning, according to it. When was the last time Draco woke up so early? There was another table beside his bed with an empty tray and something that looked like a bell.

  
  
He licked his lips. His mouth was dry and cracked, and he desperately wanted a glass of water. As if attending to his wishes, a glass appeared in the empty tray beside him, and he smiled sleepily, thanking for the existence of magic. He drank like a man in the desert, not realising he was pouring more water on his clothes than drinking it, and he only needed to wish and the glass filled again. When he was satisfied, he put the glass back on the tray and, as he waited for the glass to disappear, Draco noticed something.

  
  
His hand trembled desperately.  


It wasn’t an ordinary trembling. He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t nervous, scared or anything. He wasn’t feeling anything that could make him tremble, and yet his hand was shaking so hard he could hardly keep them both at the same height.

  
  
It wasn’t just his hands. His legs and arms were also shaking uncontrollably, and he was about to knock on that bell when someone opened the door.

  
  
_Merlin. Circe. **Salazar.**  
  
_

Harry Potter walked into the room looking like a king dressed in light blue robes and holding a clipboard in his hand. In his chest, Draco could easily read "Dr. Potter" in a darker blue lettering.

  
  
“You finally woke up,” Potter sounded relieved, of all things, and smiled gently. “How do you feel, Draco?”

  
  
That sweet voice broke him even more. Why didn’t he call him Malfoy? It wasn’t like they were friends anymore. It had been ages since he had heard the voice of the man in front of him.

 

Draco didn’t answer. He stared at the man's lost face. He had his hair as messy as ever, but now he had a beard, well trimmed, as black as the hair on his head. Draco had so much to say, and at the same time he had nothing to say at all.

  
“I... I'm shaking,” He answered instead, raising his trembling hands to show as an example.

  
  
Potter came over, putting the clipboard on the side table and holding his hands. Potter's hands were still warm, calloused and large, as they always were. But the touch was different. He was cautious, too gentle, as if he were afraid to break his patient. Draco always loved how his hands held him as if to bind him, and it was with shock that he realised he knew the touch Harry gave only to his lovers. The touch he received now was the touch of a healer.

  
“It’s a side effect of abstinence,” Harry explained, and Draco felt his hands heat up even more, and Harry’s magic passing through his palms and entering his bloodstream. Wandless and wordless magic. Was it something healers did, or was Potter special, as usual? Potter pulled his hands away slowly, and Draco fixed his eyes on Harry’s, realising with the back of his mind that his hands weren’t as shaky as before. Harry took a deep breath, swallowed hard, not looking away, but then, after a while, he seemed to come out of a spell. “Let me tell you, Draco. Your situation wasn’t good when you got here. Overdose of calming draught and alcoholic coma. It is suggested that you remain very quiet for the next few days of your treatment. You've had two heart attacks before we could stabilise you, and your body is still extremely weak,” The brunet explained as he held the clipboard again. “A mediwizard or mediwitch will give you your daily potions every eight hours, and they should soften the effects of abstinence. However, it will be a much, much lesser amount than your body is used to, what means that you will suffer a little.”

  
  
“Wait. Where I am? St. Mungus?” Draco asked, feeling his heart beat too fast. He had almost died. _Almost died._ Merlin.

  
“No. You were there when you arrived and for the first few days. After you were stable, you were transferred here. Evans Foundation,” Harry explained, and Draco sank further onto the pillows.

 

“No. Not again,” He buried his face in his hands, passing them through his hair, and was surprised by its softness. He had spent the five long months of his community work working at Evans Foundation, which had been set up immediately after the war to protect, care for, and rehabilitate the survivors. Potter was the owner, of course. And now Draco was certainly in the chemical rehab ward. The place was small at first, having been built where it had once been the home of Potter's parents at Godric's Hollow. Over the years, however, Potter had bought the houses around the block and enlarged the place gradually. The Foundation served wizards and Muggles, and even if they were in separate wings, wands were forbidden. Except for the employees, of course. It made perfect sense that Potter had decided to work there.  


“Your mother signed the papers. Unfortunately, you are our patient indefinitely,” Potter replied, and Draco felt his magic on him again. He opened his eyes and saw the man waving his wand over his body, using diagnose spells. He couldn’t get angry at his mother. He was aware that this was his only option. He could live without alcohol without problems. He was definitely _not_ an addict, as they liked to throw in his face. He just had his own way of dealing with pain. “Apparently everything's okay. If you‘re hungry, just think clearly of what you want to eat and in a few minutes it should appear. There is a list in the drawer of the food that you are allowed to eat. Asking for something else won’t work – and it means, it’s no use to ask for vodka.”

 

 Potter smiled, and Draco looked fascinated at his mouth, seeing what he had wanted to see a long, long time ago. That crooked incisor was so extremely adorable in that imposing doctor that Draco smiled.

  
“I can survive,” Draco said, wanting to ask how was he. What had he done in those three years. If he had a boyfriend. If he was still interested. If Harry loved him.

  
He didn’t ask anything, though.

  
  
“Well, I'm going on my way. If you're feeling something, pain, incessant hunger, boredom... Well, you can ring the bell and someone will show up. Good morning, Draco,” Harry said and turned to leave.

  
  
“Potter,” Draco called, his courage fading as he spoke his name. Draco wanted to ask if Harry was in a serious relationship, but instead, he asked:

  
“How long did I sleep?”

  
  
Potter stood with his shoulder against the door - he didn’t touch the door knobs - and turned to face him.

  
“Almost a month,” Harry stared at him, lost and somehow not looking very well. "It was very hard to wake you up, Malfoy. The amount of potion in your body was enough to knock out two elephants in less than five minutes.”

  
  
Draco crossed his arms, hiding his still shaky hands.

  
  
He glanced at the window, feeling a tear trickle down his cheek. Harry sighed but didn’t approach him. Draco wiped his cheek quickly. He wanted to scream that it was Potter's fault, but it wasn’t Potter who shoved the potions into his mouth.

  
  
“Visiting hours are on Saturday,” Harry said, leaving, but before he had completely left, he turned to Draco. “I'm glad you're all right, Draco. I was worried,” He said softly, and Draco lay back onto the bed when he left, hugging himself to avoid the shaking. He wondered if Harry really meant what he said before he dozed off.

  
Draco woke up a few hours later. There was a sandwich on his tray, as well as a glass of what looked like pumpkin juice. He didn’t really feel like eating, but nevertheless sat down, grabbing the sandwich and biting into it, startled to realise that it was very yummy, just like he preferred. He ate quietly, in small bites, pushing it down his throat with juice.  
  
When he was finished, he realised that he was shaking again, just like before. His body was tired, and his mind was heavy. He'd love a cocktail now, preferably some sweet drink. He looked around, staring at the impossibly white room and wondering if he would stay there for long. A pressure on his bladder forced him to his feet. There was a door to the left of his bed, which he supposed was the door to the toilet. He felt exposed in the robes he was wearing, but he was thankful for the fact that he was alone for the time being.

  
He relieved himself and washed his face to get rid of that heaviness in his head. He was nervous. His heart was beating fast and his breathing was unsteady. Had he been at home, he would surely have drunk one of his soothing vials, but in that shithole he was in, he had to wait for someone to appear. Or maybe he should just ring that bell and be done.

  
When he left the toilet, however, he was surprised to see that there was a woman in the room. She wore the green robes of the healers, and the name on her chest piece could be read in red embroidery ‘Nurse Patil’.

 

“Hello, Draco. I brought you your daily dose of potion,” She smiled lightly, and Draco struggled to remember who she was. She had long black hair, olive skin, and big, black eyes. There were two of them, weren’t there? Was this one the Gryffindor? The Ravenclaw? He remembered that the thinner of them was the one who danced with Potter at the Yule Ball back in Fourth Year, but he couldn’t remember their names. “I also brought you some clean clothes. Your mother brought them some time ago, and we've already disinfected them,” She pointed to a change of clothes lying on the bed and handed him a vial. “Do you think you can drink it?”

  
Draco reached to it, surprised by the question, but understanding it as he held the vial. His hands were shaking so hard that he couldn’t even open the lid. Frustrated, he shook his head, handing the vial back to her. Draco clenched his fist in anger. If he had drunk at least a glass of wine, he wouldn’t be shaking that way.

  
Patil opened the lid and patted the bed for him to sit down. Draco must’ve been at least twenty centimetres taller than she was. He stared at her for a moment before he let out a sigh and sat down, opening his mouth so she could pour the potion inside.

  
It tasted horrible, like smoke. Not that he had ever eaten smoke, but if he had, it would’ve tasted like that. He grimaced, feeling - _physically feeling_ \- the potion circulate through his body before a calmness took over his body. He raised his hands, and smiled as he realised that the tremor was now light, almost imperceptible.

  
“All done. You can change your clothes now. Let's talk with the Mental Healer and then we'll see your room,” she said, and Draco lifted his head, looking at her face instead of the clothes she had brought for him.  


“I'm not insane. I don’t need a Mental Healer,” Draco said indignantly, kneading his carefully folded clothes.  


“No one said you were,” She laughed, crossing her arms and raising one eyebrow. “You’re going anyway, though. Just talk to her, okay? Or maybe you want to stay in this little white room forever?”  


With a grunt, he got up and went to the toilet to change his clothes. He hoped that the time he had to spend in the Foundation passed fast enough. He hated the feeling of being sober as much as he hated having a hangover.

  
  
He quickly dressed himself with black trousers, equally black shoes, and his light blue jumper. He remembered that he was wearing it on the Puddlemere's game against the Arrows, and his throat closed with the thought. He remembered Harry’s hands taking the jumper off of his body, kissing every piece of pale skin with adoration. When the piece of clothing was out of his body, Potter buried his nose in it, sniffing the fabric lightly and closing his eyes.

  
  
“You smell like vanilla," Harry had commented, tossing his jumper aside and resting his head on his chest, smoothing the sides of Draco’s body and listening to his heart. Draco remembered putting his hands on black curly hair and scratching his scalp with his fingernails, but after that, he only remembered greedy hands and the movements of the other's body against his own. It had been a memorable night, and Draco certainly wanked many times later with memories of that night, but for some reason, he remembered only _that_ scene and the physical sensations of the act. It was impossible to forget Potter's warm hands holding him, or his cock coming and going from within his body, but the details... Draco couldn’t remember if Harry had looked at him, or if he had said dirty words. He couldn’t remember the kisses, whether he had been bitten or hugged. It was weird. He used to remember every detail of that day, but now everything was a blur of emotions...

  
  
He lifted the jumper, bringing it to his nose. It smelt like disinfectant and hospital.  


With a sigh, he left the bathroom, throwing his robe on the bed and following the healer out of the room.

  
  
"When will I get my wand back?" He asked, and Patil seemed distracted before answering.

  
  
“When you are discharged from treatment,” she shrugged. They walked through a long corridor. Mediwizards and healers came in and out of other rooms, and everything was so clean, white and organised that Draco wanted to scratch the walls. They passed by the reception, where a blond-curly girl was talking to a tearful mother. He remembered her being in Gryffindor in his year, but he didn’t remember who she was.

  
He didn’t have time to ask, either. Soon, the mediwitch was entering another corridor and stopped at the second door, which had the number _22_ nailed to the top. She knocked, opening a crack and putting her head inside.

  
  
“Penelope? I'm with Malfoy,” Patil said, and he didn’t quite hear what the person inside said, but soon the brunette opened the door completely, entering the room and calling him.

 

It was a small room. There was a sofa and two armchairs, a bookshelf on one side, and a small table with some office supplies and tissues. Draco didn’t question, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his trousers and watching the woman in front of him. She had long brown hair and a serious but not stern expression.

  
  
“Thank you, Padma. I can get him to his bedroom later,” the woman - Penelope - said, and Padma handed her a key.

  
  
“See you later, Malfoy,” Padma said, winking at him before leaving, closing the door. He felt uncomfortable standing there, and sighed. Draco wondered how long it would be before he could return home.

  
  
“Hello, Draco,” she greeted him, and Draco rolled his eyes. Didn’t they know it was polite to call people who were not their friends by their surname?  


“Do you always call patients by their first names?” He asked, and the woman laughed, motioning for him to sit down. He chose one of the armchairs and practically sank into it, stretching his long legs and clasping his hands over his stomach.

  
  
“It is easier to do our work without the indestructible veil of formality,” She said, simple. “I'm Penelope Clearwater. I'll ask you a question today. No need to answer if you don’t want to, okay? But it would help me a lot if you do answer,” Clearwater had a direct voice, but at the same time, calm. She remembered Draco the way his mother talked to him when she wanted to explain why he couldn’t throw ice cream on their guests when he wanted them to leave.

  
  
“Whatever,” He shrugged, clearly disinterested. He didn’t want to talk to her, he didn’t want to answer questions. He was fine. He had made a mistake, but he was already fine again and if Pad... What was her name again? Anyway, if she could give him those potions, he would certainly be able to stay away from alcohol; At most, he would drink a glass of wine per day. He was not an addict. Of course not.

  
  
“I'd like to say that everything we talk about here is between us. No need to worry, okay?” She assured him, and Draco nodded. “How are you feeling today?”

  
  
Draco thought for a moment before answering.

  
“Tired. My head is heavy and I have an uncomfortable feeling,” He admitted. “And I'm not remembering things very well. And, of course, I'm shaking. It makes me very stressed.”

  
  
“Side effects of abstinence,” The woman shook her head sympathetically. “The effects will pass over time during treatment, but some may become permanent, such as involuntary movements.”

  
  
“So I’ll be shaking forever?” Draco asked, shocked and feeling anger rise up his chest.

  
“Perhaps. It depends on how well you handle the treatment,” Penelope said, and he let out a grunt, folding his arms. He didn’t want to see his own hands. “But I wanted to know emotionally. How are you?”

  
  
“Angry. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t need to be part of this circus,” Draco almost spat out the words, but she didn’t seem to be affected by the harsh tone.

  
  
“I understand that it's hard for you to realise how important this is. Try to understand that no one wants you to stay here more than necessary...”

  
  
“Why? You don’t want to be near a Death Eater?” He cut her off, and Penelope frowned.  


“ _Because_ you're a patient and we want your recovery, Draco. We don’t want you to stay here forever because we want you _healed_.”

  
  
“I'm _not_ sick!” He rose abruptly, his eyes burning and practically piercing the woman's face with the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t give a _flipping fuck_ about what you, or Potter think! I’m fine!”

  
  
“Look at you, Draco. You're yelling at me when the only thing I asked you about was how you were. No one here is your enemy, _especially_ Harry Potter. He hasn’t left you all this time, you know?” She said, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat. He fell back into his chair, staring at the window beside the bookcase.

  
  
“Really?” He asked, wanting to know more.

  
  
“Yes. He couldn’t take care of you at St. Mungo's because he's not from the potion intoxication area, but once you were stable, he brought you here,” Clearwater clarified, and she had an almost tender smile on her face. “Do you feel good knowing that?”

  
  
Draco shrugged, not really wanting to respond. _Yes_ , it felt good to know that. Certainly Potter was still affected by whatever they had in the past, and Draco felt some hope. Maybe he could stay with him now that they were forcefully close to each other.

  
  
“Draco, what do you feel about your life?” She asked, and Draco kept looking at the window.

 

He was silent for several minutes, but Clearwater didn’t insist. She gave him time to organise his own thoughts, and the pressure in his throat returned, as if his body wanted to stop him from speaking. He cleared his throat and spoke tentatively.

  
  
“Hm... I...” He bit his lower lip, pressing his hands to his ribs, feeling comfortable with his hold on himself and using it to calm down. “I feel frustration,” he admitted. “I... I didn’t want to be drunk all the time. I just... I just wanted to... You know?”

  
  
“Calm down?”

  
  
“Yeah. This,” He nodded.  


“Why did you need to calm down, Draco? Were you nervous about something?”

  
  
He shrugged one more time.

  
  
“I don’t... I don’t do much. I didn’t take my N.E.W.T.s, neither... Any course. No training or anything. And then my friends started to work, and to date... And marry... I... I no longer had anyone to have fun with,” It was hard to say those things. Draco had never admitted these feelings to himself, and now he was pouring the words into her face as if he had no control. He wanted to shut up, but the words kept coming out. “And then there was Potter and...”

  
  
“You spent some time together, didn’t you?” She asked, and he nodded.

  
  
“Does everyone know?” Draco asked, and Clearwater smiled.

  
  
“It was around the same time that I dated Percy Weasley. Harry was never very discreet about who he was with,” She shrugged, and Draco looked at her strangely.

  
  
“He... Did he talk about me? About us?”

  
  
“All the time,” She confirmed, and Draco swallowed hard. “When you broke up, he was very quiet for quite some time, but I think he still feel the need to take care of you.”

  
  
_‘When you broke up’_ , she said. But Draco and Harry were never boyfriends. How could they break up? What did Potter say to his friends?

  
  
“Do you miss him, Draco?” She asked softly, and Draco heard his own sniffle before nodding.

 

 “Do you think the separation was the cause of your excesses?”

  
  
“No. Not exactly,” He replied, looking rather confused. “I drank because I liked being drunk. It was funny. After _that,_ I... I took medicine.”

  
  
“So you think the separation made you take medicine?”

  
  
“I got nervous when I remembered. Tense. Stressed. I just wanted to calm down,” He said, sniffing even more. “I didn’t always want to black out. Just...”

 

  
“To ease the pain?” She completed, and he shrugged once more. “Draco, how long have you been feeling like this? Tensed up?”

  
  
He was slow to respond once more, his eyes staring out the window without actually seeing it. Images of a fire came to his mind, and he licked his lips.

  
  
“Since the war, I think,” His voice sounded so small that he thought she might not have heard him. He wanted to speak more, but the words seemed to have disappeared now.

  
“Do you think you're still afraid of the war?” Clearwater asked, but Draco didn’t answer. He wiped his face, realising only now that he was crying, and feeling ashamed. Strangely, he felt lighter as well.

  
  
“Can I go to my bedroom now?” He asked after a while, and the healer held out one of the little packets of tissues. Draco accepted, wiping his eyes and nose and trying to calm down.

  
“I’ll take you there,” She said, standing up.

  
  
“Am I going to have to talk to you again?” Draco asked, gathering strength to get up and doing it after she touched him lightly on the shoulder.  


“Yes. Once a week,” She said, and Draco sighed. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to when you come. But it would help me if you do.”

  
  
He agreed, throwing the paper tissue out in a nearby dumpster and shoving his hands in his pockets.

  
  
“Let's go. Your bedroom is upstairs. It has a beautiful view,” She smiled, and the smile seemed odd on her serious face, but Draco didn’t want to question his own mind. There were too many things in it and Draco didn’t want to deal with all those feelings now. He decided to follow her without question. One day he would question himself. Later.

  
  
They walked down long corridors and took the lift to the ninth floor. More corridors - they always seemed endless - and they stopped in front of room 917. Clearwater pulled a key out of the pocket of her pale blue lab coat, opening the door, and entering, Draco following her closely.

 

The room was simple, but cosy. There was a large double bed, with a duvet that looked extremely comfortable and made Draco want to throw himself up there immediately. There was a desk next to it with some notebooks, scrolls, quills and ink, and next to it, a small shelf. Everything was white and meticulously in its place. At the front of the bed was a small closet for clothes and a mirror. Beside it, a door he discovered was the bathroom. On the wall opposite to the front door was a glass door that opened onto a porch. He walked there, opening the doors and feeling the cold air on his hair. There was a flush with cushions and a plant next to it, perfect for a rainy day reading. Draco walked to the ledge, holding the half wall with his hands and staring at the horizon. They were at a _considerable_ height, and he felt a thrill in his stomach. How long had he not flown? He hadn’t picked up a broom for years. From where he was, he could see the square just ahead, the church and, a little farther, the cemetery where Potter's parents were buried. He leaned over to see the Muggle houses below and, with a muffled sound, his head slammed painfully into a barrier. He let out a small groan of pain, lifting a hand and touching his forehead.  
  
“What is it?” He asked, raising a hand and touching the invisible barrier in front of him, feeling the magical pressure against his palm. It was weird, touching something you weren’t seeing - sort of like kicking Potter's face when he was playing under the cloak.  
  
“It's an anti-suicide barrier,” He looked at her in shock, and Clearwater shrugged. “You don’t know how many problems we had at the beginning when the barriers weren’t put. Especially with the Muggles. On their side, we put a glass to disguise. Some spend hours trying to break it.”  
  
Draco wanted to say he didn’t need that barrier, but he thought it was best to just let it die. Soon she was saying good bye and giving her instructions for the next few days.  
  
“Your appointments will be every Thursday morning, at exactly nine o'clock. Your other activities are on a parchment on the desk. Potter chose your activities on his own...”  
  
“Wait,” Draco interrupted the woman. “I have an activity schedule? Why did Potter choose it for me?”  
  
"Well, he was the one who knew you best among the staff. And yes, you have an activity schedule. Do you think you're going to be here and do nothing?” She laughed. “Anyway, follow your schedule correctly. Your mediwizard will come here in the early hours to take you to the places you have to go. Then you will learn to go there alone and we expect responsibility from you.”  
  
“There's no way I'm going home, is there?” He insisted, and Clearwater touched his shoulder in a way she maybe thought was gentle.  
  
“That's up to you, Draco,” The woman answered and then left the room, leaving him alone with his own thoughts.  
  
Draco sighed, closing the door and turning the key; he didn’t want to be interrupted. He went to the desk, easily finding the parchment with the schedule and opening it. His days were full enough, from what he could see. Every day, starting at two in the afternoon, he would have to work in the library, organising books, and being watched by Percy Weasley, of all people. In the morning, he had different activities depending on the days. On Mondays and Wednesdays, he would have yoga classes (what was Potter thinking?) early in the morning after breakfast, and after that, painting classes. Before lunch, he should be in the kitchen to help make lunch for the day, and after lunch, he would go to the library where he would stay until five in the afternoon. After that, he would have to help in the cleaning of the gardens before proceeding to a meeting with other people on treatment before dinner.  
  
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the only thing that was the same was the time in the library. Early in the morning he had Quidditch on Tuesday, and the meeting with the healer on Thursday. After that, he would be responsible for cleaning his own room and washing his clothes. After lunch, before heading to the library, he would have to stay in the kitchen to wash dishes on Tuesday, and on Thursday he would have to work in the garden. After the library, on those days, he would go to the gym and exercise under the supervision of a specific trainer.

He wasn’t assigned to any cleaning or washing dishes at night - nor cooking in any of the days. Thankfully, because Draco cooked really bad, despite being good at potions. After dinner, he could do whatever he wanted, as long as he was in his room or in the communal hall at curfew, which was at eleven PM. On Fridays he had nothing planned, but there were suggestions of what he could do: He could play Quidditch, or go to the pool, work out in the gym, or work with the other patients who did the recycling. He would probably use that day to read something and be lazy, since the other days were bogged down with things to do. Three times a day, at breakfast, lunch and dinner, he would take the designated potions and, on Wednesdays around three in the afternoon, a healer would examine him to see the progress of the treatment.  
  
He looked at a calendar that hung by the side of the bed. March 12 was marked, and the radio-clock on the nightstand told him that it was almost seven o'clock at night. Draco was surprised, because he didn’t see the time pass. He felt his eyes heavy and his body tired, but he got up when he heard a knock on the door. Patil was on the other side.  
  
“Hey again,” She smiled, her hands tucked into the pockets of her green lab coat. “I came to take you to dinner and give you your dose of the night,” Patil called him out with her head, and Draco closed the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket. “Did you like the room?”  
  
“Well, it’s not bad. But apparently I'm going to have a million things to do,” He grunted, and she giggled.  
  
“You must be very busy. Idleness leads to destructive thoughts and the urge to return to addiction, you know,” She shrugged, walking to the lift. “The dining room is downstairs. Everything is prepared by the internees, from the harvest in the garden, to the preparation and cleaning. No one will serve you, though. Each one put their own plate and choose their place at the tables. Are you going to stay with the cleaning any time?”  
  
“The dishes. I can’t remember well which days of the week.”  
  
“It’s alright, don’t worry. I have your schedule with me and I will help you while you get used to it. How are your hands?” She asked, attentively, and he lifted them, realising that they were shaking considerably, but not so much as when he woke up. “The effect of the potion is passing, but it still has a little,” She took a vial and handed it to him, entering the lift and pressing the button to the ground floor. “Drink after dinner. It is not good to take it on an empty stomach because it can cause drowsiness.”  
  
They left the lift and she led him into the dining room. It was big. Not as big as Hogwarts’, of course, but the structure resembled a little bit the Great Hall of the school. There were large tables scattered around the place, where several people were already eating and talking. The noise of conversation and cutlery against dishes had an immediate calming effect on the blond, and he felt less tense.  
  
“You serve yourself there,” She said, pointing to a table where several pots, platters, and plates were loaded with food. The scent was delicious, even from where he was, and he felt his stomach grumble. The sandwich from earlier was not even far enough to keep him for so long. “Then, you take your tray and your plate and drop it in that little window,” She pointed to a wall a little farther to the right of the room, where there were trays and dishes stacked to be collected and a dump where the remains were to be deposited.  
  
“I believe you are able to get back to your room later?” She asked, and Draco nodded, putting the vial in his front pocket and oddly realising that he was accustomed to the feeling of having potions in his pocket. He decided not to think about it. “You’re supposed to have a meeting with the other people tonight, but since you woke up today, we don’t want to get you tired. So you're going to have dinner and go back to your room or explore the place, but don’t walk too much, ok? I guess you’re still feeling kind of heavy and drowsy.”  
  
It was true. As much as he was hungry, he was also very sleepy. Patil said good bye, going to do whatever she did when she wasn’t watching him, and he went to the table. He picked up a tray, a plate and cutlery, putting on his plate whatever he thought he could eat since he was a little sick in spite of the hunger, and he didn’t want to overdo it.

He sat on the edge bench of one of the tables, not really wanting to talk to anyone, and ate in silence. His hands shook and it made his job difficult, but he resisted taking the potion until he had finished it all, feeling himself relax immensely after he finally drank it. He noticed that the other inmates also had their doses, some larger than the others, and they talked animatedly. Draco felt his body get heavy and stood up, placing the tray and the plate where they were supposed to be collected and headed to his bedroom. He took a quick shower and brushed his teeth. In the closet, there were several clothes of his, and he put on his pyjamas before falling into bed and falling asleep almost immediately.  
  
Draco woke up the next day with someone knocking on his door. He glanced at the radio-clock and grunted when he saw that it was seven in the morning. Draco sat up in bed, running his hands over his face, trying to wake up before he opened the door. Patil was on the other side, looking exasperated.  
  
“Thank Merlin! I've been knocking on your door for about 15 minutes,” She complained, clucking her tongue. “Time for breakfast and your potion. Come on, change your clothes and wash your face. I will wait for you here.”  
  
He grunted again, but started moving, taking clothes from the closet and going to the bathroom. When he left, dressed in light gray trousers and a white jumper, he felt more alive. It was hard to brush his teeth with his hands shaking - and he didn’t even wanted to think about how difficult it was to empty his bladder - but he knew he would get his potion now and that thought alone made him anxious to leave his bedroom.  
  
Patil was watching his undone bed with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. They left his bedroom, and Draco held out a trembling hand so she could hand him the potion. She did, but slapped his hand as he moved to open the flask.

“After breakfast,” The mediwitch scolded, and Draco rolled his eyes.  
  
“I think I can deal with the effects of a potion.”  
  
“That's exactly why you're in rehab. _After breakfast_ ,” She insisted, and Draco pocketed the potion reluctantly.  
  
They got into the lift, and there was a girl in leggings and a pink tank top, her long blond hair falling out like a waterfall of curls from her ponytail.  
  
“Padma!” The woman smiled, then turned to face him. “Draco Malfoy! I heard you woke up yesterday. How are you feeling?”  
  
“A little sick. Hungry,” He said without thinking. Draco was trying to remember her name, he was sure she was on Gryffindor at school.  
  
“Are you going to yoga today?” The girl asked once again, and Draco turned his eyes to Padma - he had to remember his mediwitch's name, at least -, who shrugged.  
  
“Do you think your body can handle a little exercise?” She asked, and Draco shook his head in negative. His legs were still wobbly, powerless. He didn’t want to force himself. “It's all right. But you still have to go to the other activities this week. The physical activities you can start next week,” Padma said, and he slipped his hands into his pockets, holding the flask for comfort.  
  
“What if I don’t want to?” He asked, and the blonde woman laughed.  
  
“You have no choice,” She said, and he grunted. “See you, Pady.”  
  
“See you, Lavander,” Padma said goodbye to her when they reached the first floor, and she and Draco followed to the main hall.

When they finally arrived there, Patil - again, he should definitely write down her name somewhere - left him to take care of some other thing he didn’t care to pay attention. He ate, as fast as he could with his shaking hands, and when he gulped down the potion, it was as if all his muscles relaxed at once. He looked at his hands, which looked normal now, and the sickness had passed. That potion was the only reason he hadn’t tried to run away from that place yet - and perhaps also the fact that he was still half asleep because he had been sleeping for so long. He handed out the dishes and the tray for cleaning and decided to explore the place, which he hadn’t done the day before. From the dining room, it was easy to get to the gardens. He passed by the reception and got out. The daylight was still soft for being fairly early and it was partly cloudy, but it still hurt his light coloured eyes. He took some time to get used to the light before following the stone path leading to the flower garden and the vegetable garden. It was kind of cold and he didn’t think about putting on a coat. Inside the building everything was nicely warm, and he hugged himself to ward off the cold. The garden was relatively large, and there were lilies everywhere, of all colours, but mostly red. He knew the Foundation had been made in honour of Lily Evans Potter, so it made sense. Some people were working with the plants, transporting seedlings, making holes, watering plants. There were herbs, vegetables and some fruit trees.  
  
“Hey!” He heard someone calling, and he saw something flying towards him with the corner of his eyes. Without thinking, he caught it, his seeker reflexes proving themselves very good still. “What‘s your name?”  
  
It was a boy, and he must have been no more than 17. He had long, greasy, dark hair, cut roughly at shoulder height. Draco imagined that Snape would have that face as a teenager. He didn’t really know if it was safe to say his name. It didn’t matter if he had paid his deal, being a Malfoy still made people give him accusatory looks. But, well, fuck it.  
  
“Draco. Draco Malfoy,” He said, and the boy laughed lightly. “Funny?” Draco hated when they made fun of his name, but the teenager just laughed even more, holding out his hand.  
  
“My name is Drake. Drake Beckett,” It was Draco's turn to laugh, and without a second thought, Draco shook his hand. After they released their hands, he stopped to look at what he held, seeing a ripe apple. He could almost close his fingers around it. “Cocaine. What about you?”  
  
“Oi?!” Draco was surprised by the question. Cocaine. A Muggle drug. This boy wasn’t a wizard. The blond was surprised that there was no separation between them out here, but decided not to show his feelings.  
  
“Why are you here?” The boy asked, more seriously, and Draco began to try and deny it. He was going to say that he had no reason to be there, that he was forced in there by mistake, but perhaps the conversation with Clearwater had changed his mind somewhat.  
  
“Alcohol. Medicine,” He confessed lowly, smoothing the apple with his thumb. Drake smiled at him.  
  
“Who's your doctor?” He asked, and Draco frowned.  
  
“Do we have our own doctors?”  
  
“Well, yes. My nurse is Cho. Cho Chang. I think the one in the alcohol wing is Padma. She's also Jess's nurse,” He nodded at a girl who was picking tomatoes from across the garden. “My doctor is Susan Bones. Who is your doctor? They must have gone to talk to you when you arrived.”  
  
“Hm... Harry. Harry Potter,” Draco answered, a little nervous. Was Potter his doctor in that place? Did Draco have to see him that afternoon? Or rather... Would he have to see him _every_ Wednesday afternoon? His heart skipped a beat.  
  
“Oh, really? I’ve only seen him once. The guy is bloody awesome. Antony had a heart attack in the middle of the hall the other day and Potter managed to save him. It was like magic. Pretty cool,” Drake had a childish gleam in his eyes as he spoke of Potter, and Draco rolled his eyes.  
  
“He's not as cool as you think. He may even be a good doctor, but he's a competitive, annoying prat,” Draco snapped his tongue, feeling childish for complaining about Potter to a teenager.  
  
“Do you know each other?” Drake asked, picking up a basket on the floor and returning to his task while talking to Draco, picking apples from the ground and placing them in the basket.  
  
“We studied together. Played on opposite teams,” _We were boyfriends, he was **inside** me_, Draco thought, but decided to omit it. No one needed to know of his misfortunes.  
  
“You don’t look like a _sporto_ to me,” Drake said, looking at him up and down. “What did you play?”  
  
Draco tried to think fast. He couldn’t say Quidditch, and he barely knew Muggle sports. He said the first one that came to mind.  
  
“Football. We played at school. It's been a long time,” Draco said, finally, and the boy nodded.  
  
“Are you doing anything now? If you want, you can help us. Antony isn’t here and we’re kind of leaving the afternoon folks to do some work,” Drake admitted, rubbing his nostrils like a habit.

“I... I think I need to get back before nine...”  
  
“It's eight still. Come on, you got an apple,” Drake smiled, and Draco shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up some fruits.  
  
Patil showed up in the garden to pick him up five minutes before nine. She had a parchment in her hand, but she pocketed it when Draco said good-bye to Drake and Jess.  
  
“Making friends?” The woman asked, and Draco shrugged.  
  
“I was bored,” He answered, and she chuckled. “Do I really need to go to... Whatever it is that I’m going to?”  
  
“Is it hard to remember your schedule?" She asked, and Draco shrugged once more, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “It's all right. It's still too soon.”  
  
The painting class was boring. Dean Thomas was the instructor, and had suggested that he and 15 others in the room drew something on the canvas that reminded them of their childhood. Draco had hours, but stared out the window for a long time before drawing a tiny gold snitch on the canvas, painting it in yellow and handing it over. Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He placed it in a corner of the wall to dry, where there were already several from other people. Patil was waiting for him outside, and they headed for the kitchen.  
  
Draco admitted that he had never been very good at cooking, but he was good at cutting, slicing, cleaning and mixing. For a moment, he expected for Mrs. Weasley to be there, but most of them were Muggle middle-aged women, a few quiet boys, and a girl who was trembling even more than Draco. She was responsible for the cleaning and always ended up stumbling over something. In spite of the strange atmosphere, the noise of the shouts and parallel conversations, pounding of pots, plates and cutlery, the terrible heat of that place and the work that didn’t end, Draco felt useful. For the first time, he felt part of something, of a unit.  
  
When she left the kitchen, Draco had a quick lunch and drank the potion that the mediwitch had given him as if he were going to die without it. He shook it over his mouth to see if any more droplets dripped from the flask. Patil allowed him to shower, to get rid of the smell of the kitchen, before going to the library, to where they followed soon after.  
  
Percy Weasley was extremely organised. Each book was well kept, as if it had never been read, and catalogued by themes, size, alphabetical order and frequency of searching. The system was easy to memorise, and it didn’t take him long to organise the scattered books that the other inmates left behind, under the watchful eye of the man. Truth be told, Draco had forgotten how much he liked books. For a long time, he had spent his days sleeping all day and waking up to go out and enjoy the night, which gave him little to no time to sit down with a book and enjoy it. He was so focused on his task that he had a fright when he turned a corner and Potter was in front of him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pale blue labcoat.  
  
“Merlin, Potter! Can you stop spying on me?” Draco placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm his heart and not look too much at the healer.  
  
“Old habits die hard,” Potter said, laughing slightly at his attitude. “Come on, there's a little office on the side. We just need to check you up.”  
  
Draco looked at Weasley at the table and picked up the books in his arms, placing them on a coffee table before walking out with Potter. His heart didn’t stop dancing on his chest. He was nervous, he had to admit. Potter had been being professional since Draco woke up, but he wanted to ask so many things, so many things that were stuck in his throat. With each step he took towards the office for his check up, he felt more like running away. Draco watched Harry's back, remembering in detail how his muscles moved when he was shirtless. His skin was even more tanned, Draco could tell. He had always loved the chocolate brown skin tone contrasting to his milky white, almost like cream and cappuccino, and his fingers trembled with want to touch him. Draco thought he would do _anything_ to touch him again.  
  
They entered the room, and Potter guided the blond man to a stretcher. Harry's hands were warm and calloused, as Draco remembered, and Harry touched him with almost devotion, checking his pulse on his arm and neck and his breath, before picking up his wand and beginning with the diagnose spells. Draco looked at him closely, but Potter didn’t look into his eyes not even for a second. Maybe because he knew it was obvious that he didn’t have to touch Draco to check his vital signs.  
  
“How are you?” Draco asked, looking for an engagement ring on his fingers or something, but finding none. Relief ran through his body, but he managed to disguise it well.

“'m okay, I guess,” Harry said, finally stopping with his wand and, with some effort, looking at him. “You're physically better than last time. Your heart rate is normalising, your liver is recovering and your blood pressure is normal. The risk of diabetes is much lower, and your cholesterol has also declined sharply. It looks like the potions are working.”  
  
“Potter,” Draco sounded serious, and Harry swallowed, his gentle smile dissipating. It was so obvious, the vulnerability in those green eyes. Draco wondered how he hadn’t noticed before how much Harry looked like a lost child. “Will you ever forgive me?”  
  
The healer’s expression was somewhat confused, and then surprised, and then, of understanding. He ran his hand through his jet black hair, averting Draco’s gaze.  
  
“It‘s in the past. I don’t hold a grudge against what happened in the past,” Potter said, and sighed. “I really don’t...”  
  
He stopped when Draco's hand was spread out in front of him. A distant memory of his childhood came to Draco’s mind, as he did the same thing on the Hogwarts Express, and Harry looked up at him. Without thinking twice, the brunet grabbed Draco’s hand with his own, and Draco couldn’t resist pulling him into a hug.  
  
Potter was between his legs, and Draco realised that he didn’t hesitate to hug him back either. The blond closed his eyes, breathing in and enjoying the smell of chocolate, potions, hospital and disinfectant that emanated from Harry. It was different from what his memory reminded, but at the same time it soothed him, left him centred and brave. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to control his next words, which came out in an almost imperceptible whisper.  
  
“Don’t go away again...”  
  
Potter pulled away from him, looking at him as if frightened, and cleared his throat, hugging himself.  
  
“Don’t forget to go to your activities, your meetings with the group, and the sessions with Clearwater. It's very important. You're way better. I see you next week,” Harry ran over the words, and his face was flushed. Draco would have found it cute if he hadn’t been furious over being ignored. “I...” Harry turned to him, as if to say something, his shoulders drooping like a dog hiding his tail between his legs. “I didn’t go because I wanted to,” He said, wrapping his hand around his wand. “And I'll always be here when you need me. See you, Dray.”  
  
Draco didn’t know if he was still angry, whether he was giving in to sadness, or whether he was relatively happy with Harry’s words. He let Potter out and ran out of the office, past him and into his bedroom. Fuck the library. When he arrived in his bedroom, he didn’t think twice. Vases, pens, scrolls: Draco threw everything against the wall. He tore the bed sheets, took his clothes out of the closet and threw them around the room, ripped curtains, punched the mattress, and screamed. He screamed so loudly that his voice was hoarse after half an hour, but he felt lighter, quieter. He passed out on the bare mattress, and didn’t move when Patil knocked on his door at night. He didn’t want the fucking potion. He just wanted to _die_.  
  
When he woke up the next day, he was so sick he couldn’t think. He couldn’t get out of bed, every movement was painful. His whole body was stiff and aching, as if he were about to lose his movements, and his mind seemed empty. Deep in his mind, he imagined he was with Potter in his office, and he said he loved him and would never leave him alone. _Never._ Draco didn’t realise he was crying. He didn’t even notice when the door opened on its own, and warm hands touched his forehead.  
  
“Pansy...” he murmured, his voice clogged, and he saw dark skin and black hair in his line of sight. He knew it wasn’t Pansy, but at the same time _it was_. He couldn’t tell.  
  
“Draco, you're boiling with fever!” The voice said, and it was Pansy. Such hot hands could only be hers. No one touched him that way besides her.  
  
“Pansy, why doesn’t he like me...?” His sleeping mind asked, and Pansy-but-not-Pansy wiped his face slowly, before throwing something into his mouth. He felt his body relax immediately, and a delicious sleepiness take care of him. It wasn’t really Pansy, he realised when the cloud left his mind temporarily. It was Patil.  
  
“It's all right, Draco. You will be fine” She was sitting beside his bed, smoothing his forehead and wiping away his tears. Draco looked at her brown eyes for a long time, and slowly his eyes were closing... Closing... Until the only thing left was the emptiness.

It was night when Draco opened his eyes again. He was alone in his bedroom, which was so organised that he doubted if he had really destroyed it. He sat up in bed, dizzy and sick. His hands were shaking like crazy, and he couldn’t quite remember what had happened. It was as if a distant memory was in the back of his mind and he couldn’t perceive it clearly. The light of the clock was like a beacon in the dark room, the red light aching in his eyes. It was after eight in the evening, and he narrowed his eyes when his stomach rumbled. He needed food.  
  
As if by magic, Patil opened his door carrying a tray. He looked at her confused, but calmly, she moved the wand on her hand. The light flickered in the room, but very soft, only slightly stronger than the clock light, and slowly increasing in intensity. She set the tray on the nightstand and put the wand in the front pocket of her bright green robe. Without a word, she helped him sit up, putting a pillow behind him so he would be comfortable.  
  
“Can you hold the spoon?” She asked, grabbing the object from the tray and holding it out. Draco raised a hand weakly, and it trembled so much that he couldn’t even hold it before it fell on his lap. He grunted. “Come on, you need to eat. Be a good boy as I give it to you, okay?” Patil said, sitting on the edge of his bed and picking up the spoon.  
  
“Why... No... Potion...?” He tried to ask, his voice groggy and sluggish.  
  
“I needed to give you the potion earlier while you were on an empty stomach, and look how you are now,” The mediwitch said, looking at him seriously, as a mother speaks to a spoiled child. “Eat first, potion later.”  
  
“No... Child...” Draco turned his face as she took the tray and placed it in her lap together with the spoon. It was shameful to have to be fed in the mouth by a person who, no matter how strange she was, was not yet a friend or relative.  
  
“Draco, you're my patient. I won’t judge you for something you are going through. Let me help you,” She asked in a sincere tone, and he turned his face to her, meaning to say he didn’t need help. However, it was obvious that he needed it. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth and letting her feed him, which she did without comment. “You're fine, if you want to know. Your type of abstinence is much lighter, since you spent the first month in a coma. Your body detoxified a lot during this time, but it was very difficult to wake you up,” She explained with patience and kindness. It was as if Draco had never met the Ravenclaw at school. “The problem was the seizures in the early days, vomiting... Well. It wasn’t pretty. You were lucky to be knocked down. Having trouble sleeping?”  
  
Draco nodded his head, swallowing the food. He was nauseous and hearing her talking about vomiting wasn’t helping. Patil wiped his chin with a napkin before continuing with her task.  
  
“Are you nauseous?” He nodded. “The tremors, I can see. Are you having hallucinations?”  
  
“Dreams...” He tried to explain in a coiled voice. Memories that looked real, but he knew they weren’t. Like Pansy taking care of him.  
  
“At least it's not nightmares...” She commented, and he turned his face when he couldn’t swallow anymore. If he had to eat anything else, he probably wouldn’t keep anything in his stomach. “Are you going to be sick? Calm down, your potion is here. At least you ate almost everything.”  
  
Patil waited for him to open his mouth and poured in the contents of the flask she took out of her pocket. The wonderful feeling took over Draco's entire body, and he smiled, relieved.  
  
“Draco,” She called him, making him look down at her through narrowed eyes. “You understand that you need to participate in your scheduled activities, don’t you?”  
  
He sighed, nodding, yawning and clutching one hand in the other. The feeling of abstinence was horrible. The tremors and nausea were bad enough. Knowing he could be awake during the convulsions was even worse.  
  
“How... How do muggles go through...?” He tried to ask, his voice slowly returning to normal.  
  
“They feel the same. The difference is that they can’t take a potion like you. They are treated with Muggle medicine, which are slow and have long side effects,” She explained, touching his arm with affection. “Please, Draco. Do it for yourself. Don’t you want to get better?”

“I didn’t even know that... I was sick... At the beginning of everything,” He said, looking away, but not moving his arm from where it was.  
  
“That's why addiction is so dangerous. Many people think they don’t have a problem, that it's okay, that they can stop. Do you think if you left here tomorrow morning, would you stay away from a bottle of alcohol?” She asked, and he laughed.  
  
“I imagine my wine cellar in my spare time,” He confessed, and the mediwitch laughed with him, putting the tray back on the bedside table.  
  
“You may think you don’t have a problem, Draco, but your body is telling you otherwise. It is asking for help. Please... Don’t do what you did today again.”  
  
He felt the good humour leaving his body and folded his arms.  
  
“It's not my fault Potter is an arsehole,” He grunted between his teeth.  
  
“It's not Harry's fault if you traded him for drinks and easy sex,” She said in a cold voice, and Draco looked up at her.  
  
“Did he tell you...?”  
  
“Harry looked like shit for months until we forced Pansy to confess what happened. Why do you think we stopped going to the Fairy Finger?” She leaned more comfortably on the bed, her black eyes staring at him. “He wanted to get back to you, like the idiot he is, but we made him promise that he would only stay with you if you were sober for at least a week,”  
  
“I've been sober for over a month,” Draco said stubbornly, and she laughed.  
  
“You're on abstinence and on rehab. He's your healer,” The mediwitch patted his leg slightly, rising up. “Don’t push him so hard. Don’t push _yourself_ so hard. Everything will work out in the end. Tomorrow, 6:45, I'll be here.”  
  
“Too early...” Draco grunted, returning to lie down comfortably on the bed.  
  
“You promise to take part in everything?” She asked, and Draco sighed.  
  
“I was trying, okay? I cooked and everything.”  
  
“And that's wonderful of you!” She said as if he was six. Draco rolled his eyes. “But you need more. Get rid of that accumulated energy. Go play Quidditch tomorrow, it'll be fun.”  
  
Draco sighed, shaking his hand for her to leave. The mediwitch stood up and opened the door before turning off the light, leaving the room lit only by the hallway light. She picked up the tray and, with one last glance, closed the door, leaving him in the comfort of the darkness.

As promised, Patil showed up early at his door. Draco followed his routine, determined to improve, at least because he wanted to stop shaking and getting sick all the time. The prospect of having convulsions was frightening, and he didn’t even want to know how it was to have illusions and nightmares - it was enough what he had before taking that wonderful potion that Patil thrust into his mouth every day. It was Friday, he didn’t have a set schedule, but ended up leaving after breakfast, meeting Drake, who was in the garden with a girl named Letty. He was tempted to turn left and go to the wizarding area, where they would probably start the Quidditch game, but ended up following the younger one. Draco didn’t know exactly why, but it was as if something made him want to stay close to the boy, even if it was only to make sure he wouldn’t do anything wrong.  
  
He was called to play a football game, and he was nervous because he had said that he used to play at school, but he didn’t know exactly the rules of the game. He couldn’t deny it because of his previous lie, but the truth was that the game itself was very easy to understand. Basically, they didn’t follow any rules. Some wore coloured shirts, and as Draco was in his black jumper, he was soon put on the black shirt team.

The only objective was to kick the ball and score at the goal on the side of the enemy team, and Draco was still pretty fast. Running was much more tiring than flying, he thought, or maybe he was out of shape. What he knew was that, by the end of the game, his whole body ached and his lungs seemed to be on fire. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, sweaty and red, his bangs clinging to his forehead and feeling pain in muscles he didn’t even know he had. But he was laughing like an idiot because his team had won. Drake had gotten a basket full of burgers for the winning team, and Draco felt an almost sickly pleasure in eating his share and knowing that it was the prize for being victorious.  
  
“Even after those years, you're still very good!” Drake laughed, licking his greasy fingers. “We play every Friday. Do you want to be an official part of the team?”  
  
Draco didn’t know if he should, but eventually he accepted. He'd have Quidditch during the week, so he wouldn’t miss it. It was nice to be able to explore something new and meet new people, maybe even go to bed with new people...  
  
He decided to block that thought. He was locked in there, so close to Potter. He could finally admit to himself that he wanted the guy and wanted to show himself to be better for him. That he had changed. However, an issue still lingered in his head.  
  
“Drake, can we have sex in here?” He asked, and the boy raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Like, in the pitch?!”  
  
“No, you idiot,” Draco rolled his eyes and cursed before he could stop himself. Drake laughed at his face and Draco didn’t hold his own laugh, kicking him lightly on the leg. “At the Foundation. Are you allowed to take people to your bedroom?”  
  
“Well, not technically. Sex addiction is another problem associated with drugs and narcotics. But people always find a way,” He laughed, unconcerned. “Why? Do you want to have sex with someone?”  
  
“Just curious,” That's what Draco said, but in the back of his mind, he knew exactly who he wanted to bring to his bedroom and break the rules with.  
  
Although Friday was a good day, it wasn’t easy for Draco to adapt. In fact, he was getting annoyed. The painting classes were stupid, yoga was stupidly hard even though he was pretty stretchy, his Quidditch-designated team was shit and _Percy Weasley_. If it wasn’t enough to work in the library, he had to deal with Goody-Good-Weasley, who followed him around as if he had no other people to look out for, and who seemed to melt at his desk whenever Oliver Wood appeared. According to Clearwater, the two of them were together for some time and very happy. Draco wanted them to be happy in hell.  
  
Even with the potions, he noticed that his mood was unsteady. He was furious for no reason, or cried desperately without knowing why. Padma - he had finally memorised her name - made daily diagnoses and exclaimed  ‘Draco, you're pregnant!’ whenever he was having one of his mood swings, and he couldn’t get angry at her. Padma was his only constant event, and as the days went by, the mediwitch and Drake had him endure weekly meetings with the support group, the mental healer, and Potter.  
  
The support group wasn’t so bad. Several people sat by the fireplace comfortably with hot chocolate and told stories about their addictions. They were distant and sad stories, which Draco tried not to identify with, but he saw certain patterns here and there. He never spoke when it was his turn. No one was forced to speak and he took advantage of it.

Clearwater was another matter. The woman was always calm, steady, and attentive, and seemed to pull words out of him as easily as his mother could detect a lie. After a few weeks, she came up with a report and explained it.  
  
“Draco, you have a diagnosis of Posttraumatic Disorder. That explains a lot. But we need to rethink your treatment and modify your medication,” He tried to control himself, but it was revolting. He wasn’t sick. He _wasn’t_ sick. Draco felt guilty later, for having screamed in her face, and destroyed her office. She didn’t even flinch. In fact, she didn’t even react when he destroyed everything. After he threw himself onto his armchair, sobbing and gasping, she rearranged everything with a wand motion, approached him and handed him her paper towels.  
  
“Getting out of here is up to you, Draco,” She said calmly. He knew it was true, but something in his mind refused to accept it.  
  
His mother, Pansy and Blaise visited often. Theo appeared from time to time, and even Luna came to see how he was. His mother was delighted to see him sober, and made plans for him for when he came home. She looked so happy to see him trapped inside the Foundation that he felt hurt and spoke little to her. He liked to be visited, but at the same time, he didn’t want to _need_ those visits. He wanted to be out of there, back home, back into his life. Those hours of conversation he had with his friends just reminded him that he was stuck there while there was a whole world outside.

  
  
The check-ups with Potter didn’t help either. Draco tried to rip off anything from him, but the healer was being as professional as possible. Draco knew that he affected him - Harry often needed to take a deep breath before continuing, his hands trembling slightly and his cheeks turning pink - but he didn’t understand why Potter wouldn’t accept his flirting. He was sober. He had been sober for _ages_ , and determined to be faithful, or whatever Harry Potter expected of him. It was pathetic, but every time he could pull a smile from Harry, when his handshakes lasted longer than necessary, or when Harry took his fringe off his face, Draco's heart felt a hint of hope, a sensation of falling-free taking over his stomach. Harry, however, was soon walking away, leaving him alone once again.

  
  
Draco would lunch, wash dishes and go to painting classes. He was good at it, he realised, and Dean Thomas encouraged him. The point at which things started to change was when one day Thomas had asked them to draw the things they most hated, and Draco made a drawing of himself.

  
  
From that moment on, he could see why Harry was so far from him. Draco _was_ an addict. In fact, it was hard to remember the time when he wasn’t drinking and getting high. At nights, as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, Draco promised himself that he would change. That he would improve and focus on his treatment, _for Harry_.

  
  
Harry had become his goal, and he wouldn’t give up in any way until he had him again. At night, when he wanked alone in the dark, he imagined that his fingers were Harry’s fingers, and that Harry’s voice whispered dirty words in his ear. It had been so long since Draco had had sex that his imagination was getting more and more creative. He had vivid dreams, and absolutely no shame in using them as wanking material. During the check-ups with Harry, he teased and flirted with the healer, but Harry didn’t advance on his moves. Draco felt that he wanted to reciprocate, if he could believe his shy smirks.

  
  
“Draco, you can’t do this to have a man back. You have to do it for _yourself_.” Padma said when Draco confessed his plan.

  
  
“At least I'm doing it, aren’t I?” Draco complained. The potion for his abstinence and his disorder was making him slow and nauseous, but at least he didn’t shake as hard as he had before, even when it had been hours since the previous dosage. He was sick, but he tried not to show it. Padma was taking his pressure now. “I know he still likes me. He can never hide it.”

  
  
“He can’t," She laughed. “When we were at the Yule Ball, he was almost eating Chang with his eyes.”

  
  
“Let's not remember that awful day. He was so handsome and didn’t even look at me all day. It was horrible.” Draco said dramatically, and the mediwitch laughed, writing down something in his report and pulling her wand from his wrist point.

  
  
“Anyway, think about it, Draco. You are your own hero. Harry is your doctor, but recovery is all your merit. Have a little more self-love.” She said, and Draco rolled his eyes.

 

“Give me a 23.5cm vibrator and I will love myself _very much_!” He said, making her laugh even more before leaving the room. The following week, there was a rectangular package in his bed with a ribbon when he arrived from dinner, with his most desired gift inside. He laughed, deciding that he needed to thank Padma. But only after he played with his new toy.

 

***

  
  
“I'm leaving next week,” Drake said during one of the Football games on Friday. They were both sweaty, sitting under a tree and talking. They were the losing team that day, and Draco was looking enviously at the other team devouring the food that was the prize. “I'll be four months clean already. They think I am over with drugs. I don’t take any more medicine or anything.”

  
  
“That's wonderful, Drake. I wish I had your luck.” Draco sighed, leaning against the tree and taking a deep breath, calming his own breath.

  
  
“You're not even here for three months. You still need to spend more time in treatment,” Drake ran a hand through his black hair, smiling at him. Draco felt once more the overwhelming urge to adopt him, to care for him like a stray dog. “Promise me you'll be clean when you leave?”

  
“I'll be so clean they'll use me as a disinfectant.” Draco said, and the younger one laughed, coming closer and giving him a sweaty hug. Draco didn’t care that much.

  
  
“You’re one of the coolest guys out here. I hope we meet outside again.” Drake seemed to control himself when he said it, swallowing hard.

  
  
“You bet we will.” Draco assured him, patting him on the shoulder with affection.  


The days began to pass too fast. Draco had grown used to the routine of the Foundation, and he didn’t need Padma to follow him everywhere so he would know where to go. He met new people, made friends with other internees and employees. He would certainly try to keep in touch with Padma - perhaps even Lavander, though his arse obsessed her. He would have to think how he could keep in touch with Drake - neither of them had a mobile, and Draco couldn’t send him an owl. He hoped he would manage eventually.

 

  
The day the boy left, employees and other internees made a farewell reunion. Draco was invited and he felt too energetic just by drinking fizzy drinks. He never had a habit of drinking that kind of Muggle drink, and after months of drinking nothing stronger than grape juice, his body was in need of some kind of energy. He didn’t sleep well that night, but he felt good. He hoped it would be that much fun on the day of his own farewell reunion.

  
  
“Potter,” The next afternoon he felt too excited, so much that he was carried away by his most secret wishes. There was a blue aura around him and Harry looked at him and took notes. “Did you like me when we were together?”

  
  
The question was so innocent that Harry lifted his head, tilting it a little.

 

  
“I thought I had been obvious.” Harry said, and Draco shook his head.

 

  
“I know you broke everything because of Valentine's Day, but I didn’t... I didn’t think you liked me. Only that you wanted exclusivity.” Draco admitted, and Harry ended the spell, sitting down in the office’s other chair.

  
  
“Of course I wanted to. I was in love and stupid. I thought you somehow liked me too, but that wasn’t the case.” Harry was serious when he said it, but his eyes didn’t meet Draco's.

  
  
“I liked you. It’s just... It's like, in here- ” Draco touched his head with his forefinger. “something didn’t let me realise.”

  
  
Harry laughed sadly and ran his hand through his hair, messing them up even more.

  
  
“I know that, now. I really care about you. Really.” Harry said, and for a moment his eyes fixed on Draco's, who took some time to speak.

  
  
“Do you still love me?”

  
  
Harry didn’t answer. He bit his lower lip and looked away, sighing and rising from his chair.

  
  
“I can’t answer that.”

  
  
  
“And why not?” Draco was offended, rising from the stretcher. He wanted to fight, but the medication made his aggressiveness controlled.

  
  
“Because I don’t trust you!” Harry admitted, louder than he should have. “You broke me once, and it took me a while to get the little things back together. I can’t let my heart do what it wants, and then you’ll be out of here and start getting pissed drunk all over again!” Harry looked so hurt that Draco didn’t control himself. He crossed the office in broad strides and hugged him. To his surprise, Harry hugged him back immediately.

  
  
“Forgive me. Please, Harry. Forgive me for being so stupid.” Draco murmured against his hair. He breathed in, smelling the scent of chocolate between the hospital scents. It was comforting.

 

“I forgave you a long time ago, Draco. But my heart isn’t ready to be hurt again.” Harry said, and walked away from him. Draco wanted to ask if he still had any chance, but he didn’t say anything else. He leaned over, kissing Harry on the cheek and murmuring against his skin.

  
  
“I'll prove to you, Harry Potter, that no one will make you as complete as I do.” His tone was presumptuous, and Harry smiled.

  
  
“I'm counting on it.”

  
His conversation with Potter had left him confident. He was calmer, his mood swings were happening much less often, the shaking had diminished considerably, and despite his nausea and the fact that he was still unable to stop taking the potions, he felt himself making great strides. He recognised, today, that he had done dangerous things that made people get away from him. But he was determined to change. He would prove that he was good enough for Potter to trust him again.  
  
Padma found his line of thought sick, but Draco spent almost a month with that single purpose in his mind. With each passing day, he would wake up thinking of doing his best for _Harry_ to see his effort, and slept thinking of the smiles he had managed to get out of the healer. They exchanged nothing more than hugs, but at night, Draco imagined his toy to be him, that it was _Harry_ deliciously opening him, pressing Draco’s legs against his own chest. Draco knew that Harry thought of his body under the care of his calloused hands. If he hadn’t thought about it, he wouldn’t have put him in yoga classes. Now Draco understood why Harry did it. This thought made Draco work harder when he worked out, which was giving him a stronger, more defined body. He would never have the muscles he _knew_ Harry still had, his genes weren’t for strength, but for elegance. But beneath his long, slender limbs, it was possible to discern his muscles, the lines separating one from another were visible and he never loved his body so much every time he looked in the mirror. His lips were full and rosy, his hair soft, his body with a good amount of flesh on Harry's favourite places. Draco was happy. He had a goal. And that goal was _Harry Potter_.  
  
He didn’t think his goals would change so violently. So drastic.  
  
It was Wednesday, and he was leaving the meeting with other internees when he noticed a strange commotion near the main hall. Curious, he walked over there, beginning to hear frightened voices, and a woman screaming in despair. Healers ran back and forth, and the place was packed because it was close to dinner time. He pushed some people to get to the centre of the circle, and stopped in the spot when he saw _him_ , his mind emptying.  
  
Harry was on the floor, his face pale and hands trembling, examining a fallen boy. A woman, who appeared to be the boy's mother, was holding on to his Muggle doctor’s clothes, begging him to save her son. The boy was shaking on the floor, eyes empty and glassy, a great deal of saliva coming out of his mouth as he convulsed. Harry tried to put the boy on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own saliva, but the woman didn’t seem to notice the superhuman effort Harry was making to save the boy.  
  
_Drake._  
  
Draco was pushed violently to one side. Chang and Padma were pushing a stretcher, and as he was lighter than a baby, they held Drake by his arms and legs, lifting him and placing him on the stretcher. Harry tried to get up, but the woman grabbed him by his collar, pulling him down.  
  
“You're going to save him, aren’t you? Say that you will!” She screamed through her tears, and Draco didn’t notice himself moving until he was already holding the woman by her arms and pulling her back.  
  
“If you don’t let the doctor go, your son is going to die, ma'am.” Draco said, his voice calm, but his eyes turned to the boy squirming on the stretcher. Harry looked at him, as if thanking him, before running off with the mediwitches to Merlin knows where.  
  
Drake's glassy eyes haunted him all night. Even after everyone had gone to the dining room, Draco couldn’t eat. Patil didn’t come to give him his potion, but he wasn’t worried. In fact, he didn’t feel bad or shaken for not taking it. His current dose should’ve be minimal so he wouldn’t suffer the horrible abstinence effects, although at the end of the night he hadn’t been able to sleep and felt weak. He knew that the change he was supposed to make at the time wasn’t physical. Three months later, his body was clean. But his mind was more confused than ever.

Draco thought he had found a purpose. An obsession, a madness, or whatever his mediwitch called it, but he had _something_. To see Drake - Drake, who laughed and played like a child he was, a teenager! - in that situation, made Draco feel like there was no reason to go on. What for? He was _fine_. A bottle wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t going to get drunk, he knew that. He didn’t need the potions; he only needed a bottle. Just _one_.  
  
He stood up, his brain working at fifty kilometres per hour. He needed to drink _something_. Something to forget the sight he had just had. He knew there was nothing in the bedroom, but maybe in the bathroom... He got up from his bed, walking to the bathroom and taking the mouthwash. It had alcohol, he knew. He opened the lid, smelling the contents and thinking a little. Was it really worth it?  
  
Draco worried his lower lip for a few seconds. He needed to drink something. _Anything_. _Anything_ was good enough. He held the bottle tighter, turning it in his mouth and swallowing the fiery liquid that went down his throat. A sudden nausea rose against the strong taste, and he spat in the sink, his throat making counter-movements to expel the substance from his body. His eyes filled with tears and his mouth tasted sweet, but he didn’t vomit. He closed the bottle, ashamed of what he had just done, and washed his face, trying to calm down. The sight of the boy's eyes, however, didn’t leave his head.  
  
He knew what that was. Draco didn’t want to know, but he knew. Drake left the foundation with the hope of finally being free. But a single mistake made him come back. A miserable flaw like the one Draco was trying to commit at that very moment made him go back to that prison.  
  
Draco ran to the porch, feeling the night wind on his face, and held the parapet. He looked down, wondering if life was really worth living anyway. He would leave next month, without Harry, with his reputation in the mud, and probably would do the same until he was on a stretcher like Drake. Without thinking, Draco pushed himself up, trying to climb the parapet, but a strong pressure pushed him back.  
  
Surprised, he held up a hand, touching the anti-suicide barrier. His whole body felt pain. Not a physical pain, but an emotional pain. He had found that protection stupid when he arrived, but remembering it at that particular moment made him rethink. How many? How many in there tried the same thing he had tried that very second?  
  
He staggered backwards, leaning against the wall. He couldn’t be alone at that moment. He couldn’t just stay in that bedroom alone, wishing he was dead. He thought the days of wishing he was dead had passed. He left the room and didn’t wait for the lift. He ran downstairs, never minding the time, towards Harry's office. He needed him. Emotionally, he needed him.  
  
Draco never ran as fast as he did that day. When he reached the office, he opened it without asking for permission. Harry glared at him, pausing in the process of removing his coat, one arm out, and one still inside it.  
  
“Drac--”  
  
“What happened to him?” Draco asked, entering and closing the door, his face a clear demonstration that he wasn’t well at all.  
  
“Drake Becket. He was your friend, wasn’t he?” Harry asked and something in his tone of voice made Draco's shoulders tremble, and he could no longer control his emotions. Thick tears streamed down his cheeks, and he sobbed.  
  
“He was...?”  
  
Harry frowned, finished pulling off his lab coat and tossing it over his chair. Underneath he wore white trousers, and a plain white shirt. Harry was all, all _white_ , and Draco wished he wasn’t the dark side of them. He wanted that whiteness for himself, every bit of it. Potter approached, and Draco thought he was going to take the tissue box and give it to him, as Clearwater did. However, Harry raised a hand, wiping his tears with his fingers. Draco closed his eyes, taking advantage of that closeness. It was the first touch Harry gave him willingly after so many years apart.  
  
“Drake was too young. He thought that ‘one more time’ wouldn’t do anything. Just one more time before ‘never again’,” Harry had a good voice. It was hoarse, low and light, as if he had trained it. Draco could see and hear the healer in him, but there was a kindness in the ringing of his voice that was all _Harry_. _It_ was Harry when he asked him to sleep with him. _It_ was Harry when he asked if he wanted him to take off his clothes. _It_ was Harry when he asked if Draco didn’t want to stay for tea. “He had a cardiac arrest. I’m sorry, Draco. I did everything I could. And what I couldn’t, too.”

Draco knew. He knew that Harry would never let Drake die without trying. He knew that if Drake was still alive, Harry would still be trying to save him. Once again, Harry surprised him. He pulled him into a hug, nestling Draco in his arms and letting Draco cry on his shoulder. He pulled him to the stretcher near the wall, nestling Draco between his legs and beginning to smooth his back and hair. Draco has never felt so at home. He also never felt so _lost_.  
  
“I don’t… I don’t want to-o d-i-ie!” He admitted, through tears and sobs, and Harry's grip tightened. “I didn’t want a-any of this!”  
  
“I won’t let you die, Draco.” Harry said, and Draco sniffed, hugging him tightly.  
  
“Harry... Harry, why can’t you be mine? Why not?” Draco asked, wanting to get rid of the injustice of it all.  
  
“I'm your healer.” Harry said, and Draco laughed lightly, moving away from him to meet his green eyes. He didn’t want Harry to see him like this. Red eyes, nose swollen and running, messed up hair. But he decided that he didn’t care. Harry had seen his worst.  
  
“Then don’t be. Stop being my healer,” Draco asked, licking his dry lips. “I can’t stand loving you from afar, Lion.”  
  
Draco felt - _literally_ , he felt - beneath his palm as Harry's heart raced. He felt a mad urge to lay his head on his chest, and he understood why Harry loved to do it. Harry looked at him as if about to kiss him, but he didn’t. At least not in the mouth. He gripped the sides of Draco's head, and pulled him down, kissing his forehead before pressing his own forehead against his.  
  
“This is what you want?” Harry asked in a low tone. Draco didn’t have to think for more than two seconds.  
  
“Yeah. That's what I want.”  
  
That night, Draco slept on the stretcher in Harry’s office, and Harry, in the chair next to it, his hand firmly holding Draco's hand. Draco still wanted to get better for Harry, and his obsessive thoughts wouldn’t fade overnight, but he had noticed something important with the pain he felt that day. When he awoke, long before Harry, the next day, he looked at his face and decided that he would improve for _himself_. His eyes burned, and there was a deep pain inside him because he knew that Drake wouldn’t greet him Friday morning, not because he was no longer in treatment, but because he wasn’t _alive_. However, that pain – and only that pain - was what made him think that Drake Becket and Draco Malfoy might have had a similar destiny. Similar names, two addicts inside a treatment centre, a fucked-up life from an early age. But Draco Malfoy was _not_ Drake Becket, and he would prove that fact simply by staying _alive_.  
  
In the first few days that followed, however, it didn’t look like anything had changed between Harry and Draco. Draco received his potion’s dose the next day, as usual, and decided to participate in his activities even if he didn’t really want to. The potion tended to cushion the negative feelings that took hold of him when he didn’t take it, and nothing seemed out of ordinary.  
  
When Saturday arrived, he received a visit from Pansy. He told her everything that had happened, and she cried for long minutes, hugging him and saying how proud she was of him. Draco had been embarrassed, and therefore grumpy, but his heart had swollen with happiness at the knowledge that he was doing something right. His mother appeared too, with his favourite cake and huge admiration. Draco could see how happy she was to see him well, and he felt a crushing need to apologise to her. The words didn’t want to come out of his mouth, but he didn’t want to miss a chance.  
  
Draco had already seen death closely, but neither of these times, his death would be his fault. He wanted to show Narcissa that he wouldn’t be his own executioner.  
  
“Mother...” He stopped halfway through his slice of cake, set it aside and licked his teeth, making sure they weren’t dirty. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings while looking ridiculous. “I... I know how stupid I've been all these years. How much I worried you. How much... I was irresponsible and I hurt you. I... I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything I've put you through. And that...” He sniffled, hating himself for being so sentimental. “I regret everything I said and did. I... I really want to get away from all of it.”  
  
Narcissa smiled, wiping her eyes gently with long fingers, so like Draco's, and hugged him tightly.

“You're always going to be my son, Draco. My baby. I'll always be here for you. No matter what happens.” Her words were simple, and she didn’t say she accepted his apology, but it was obvious she didn’t need to. Her heart never held grudges against Draco. It made him feel even guiltier, but more determined to keep going.  
  
By the end of the afternoon, when everyone was gone, he wasn’t expecting another visit. He received a letter from Blaise and a box of assorted chocolates from Theo - all rum chocolates sarcastically missing from their compartments, with a note saying _'I ate them to help you'_. He decided to walk around the garden, even though it reminded him of when Drake was there. He walked without any specific direction, but stopped when he heard a voice calling him.  
  
Curious, he turned, seeing Harry walking towards him. He wore ordinary jeans, a dark green t-shirt, and Converse shoes. It was strange to see him without his healer robes, but it was also a relief. Aside from being a healer, Harry was still _Harry_. The same messed hair Harry with glasses falling from his nose. He smiled, folding his arms and waiting for Harry to approach. He looked like a herald of new days, with the heavy clouded sky over him and the wind ruffling his hair even more.  
  
“It's still your visiting time, isn’t it?” Harry asked, as Draco felt the first trickle of rain on his nose.  
  
“It's almost finished. You'll have to be quick.” Draco tried to hide his smile, but it only grew on his lips. More drops fell on him. He didn’t care. Harry didn’t either.  
  
“I have the bad habit of being very slow. I do everything... Well... Very _slowly_. Only after a while I let things increase in speed.” Harry said, and Draco opened his mouth. He didn’t expect such a sexual comment from the healer. The rain began to fall on them, surprising Draco and soaking his clothes. Harry laughed.  
  
At that moment, however, Draco saw something incredible. The front gate began to open, and without a second thought, he ran out of the Foundation at full speed. He could feel Harry running after him, but his football-trained legs made him run furiously out into the park immediately ahead of the Foundation. He didn’t too far, though. He felt Harry's weight on him, throwing him to the ground and pushing him against the ground.  
  
“What are you doing?!” Harry almost shouted, but Draco laughed, turning so he could lie on his back, his face looking at Harry's.  
  
“I didn’t want to run away.” Draco admitted, and Harry looked confused.  
  
“Then...?”  
  
“I just wanted to know if you would run after me.” Draco admitted, holding up a hand and tucking it into Harry’s wet curls.  
  
Harry looked at him in surprise, but smirked afterwards.  
  
“A Slytherin to the end.” Harry started to get up, but Draco held him where his hand was. With Harry on top of him like that, he felt his heart racing, his expectation growing.  
  
“I want the truth, Potter,” Draco said, more seriously. “Do I have a chance?”  
  
Harry laughed, leaning with both hands on the sides of Draco's face, coming so close to him that Draco could feel his breath against his lips, the brush of Harry's mouth in his, and the rain. He felt purified.  
  
“Oh, my dragon...” Harry sighed against his mouth. “You have _all the chances_.”  
  
And, with no warning, he ended the distance between them, giving him his first kiss - or what appeared to be his first kiss - after three, long, empty years.

 

|| _It's shaking the sky  
And I'm following lightning  
I'll recover if you keep me alive_

_  
Don't leave me behind  
Can you see me I'm shining  
And it's you that I've been waiting to find_

_  
I'm holding it all tonight  
I'm folding it all tonight  
You know that you make it shine  
And it's you that I've been waiting to find_ ||

**_\- Shine – Years and years_ **

 

“Happy birthday, Draco!” A cacophony of voices screamed in his bedroom, making Draco laugh, even though he was trying to hide it. There was a huge chocolate cake, all covered with frosting and stuffed with buttercream, with candles in the shape of the number 26 on top. Harry was holding the cake, squatting at the foot of his bed. Padma held several pastries, and Luna, Pansy, Granger and Weasley were also there, along with Theo, Blaise and Ginny. He was in his pyjamas, covered up to his waist and sitting on his bed, while the staff moved around the small bedroom, picking up garnishes, disposable plates, fizzy drinks on cups, and juice.  
  
He didn’t even remember it was his birthday, actually. As they sang ‘happy birthday’ and cut pieces of cake, Draco reflected on what have happened. The days went by busily in the Foundation, and he always knew which day of the week was which, but their numbers were lost. Draco realised that, after a while, he wasn’t in a hurry to leave any longer, especially after the previous week when Harry admitted that he still liked him. That had been the first kiss after many years, and the only one. Harry was always polite when he was in his healer’s robes, but every once in a while, when he appeared in ordinary clothes and asked if Draco wanted to take a walk - only after dinner or on Saturdays and Sundays - Harry was the same Harry he knew, awkward, sarcastic and lovable. They didn’t kiss, though. Harry hugged him often, but nothing more than that.  
  
This situation was making Draco increasingly nervous. He felt Harry's hands on him, his voice and his smiles, his teasing, and he couldn’t help but want. Draco has always loved sex, always wanted it very much and all the time, and he was in there for _months_ without anything. He had never been without sex for so long since losing his virginity, and that was excruciating. Everything made him hard, the slightest touch made him hurt his wrist at night, alone with his 23-centimetre best friend – it wasn’t 23,5. Draco knew because he measured it with a ruler. Even Harry's gaze, his deep eyes behind his glasses lenses, the green burning like ferocious fire warming Draco's body from the inside, made him have the most vivid sexual dreams.  
  
Draco was learning that it didn’t matter if his bedroom was full of people he didn’t find attractive. When Harry Potter sat next to him on the bed, holding an innocent piece of cake, his cock _would_ _get_ hard. Draco put his hands on his lap and crossed his legs to disguise it.  
  
“What do you want for your birthday?” Harry asked.  
  
“’Going out’ is not on the list.” Padma remembered, helping the other people with cake and snacks.  
  
Draco thought for a moment, a smile on his lips, and turned to Harry.  
  
“I want you to feed me.” He giggled, and Harry looked surprised before returning the smile.  
  
“Well, it's your birthday.” Harry shrugged, grabbing his fork, but Draco shook his head.  
  
“No. With your fingers.” He corrected, and Harry laughed more openly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He took a piece of cake with his index and thumb fingers and lifted it to Draco's mouth.  
  
Draco closed his mouth around the piece, purposely licking Harry's fingers in the process. Harry cleared his throat and swallowed hard before picking up another piece.  
  
“God, you both are so _cute_ , I feel like throwing up.” Pansy said, making sounds of discomfort, and Draco laughed. He didn’t really care. He had Harry Potter in his bed, giving him food in his mouth. What more could he want?  
  
Besides sex, of course.  
  
Sex that that same Harry Potter refused to give him.  
  
He knew that Harry was also affected by him. It was obvious, as obvious as that mess in his bedroom. Harry licked his lips and gasped as Draco's tongue touched his fingers, and twitched constantly where he was seated. If his memory didn’t fail him, Harry was also a sex enthusiast - and just thinking that he might have done it with other people made Draco's blood bubble in his veins with jealousy. What calmed him was that Harry had no time for anything but the Foundation - or so Draco thought.  
  
In Harry's gaze, he saw, there was promise and desire. Draco still wanted to improve because of him, of course, but... Honestly? At the moment, he just wanted Harry to stop being a professional healer and fuck him until he was merged with the mattress.

It didn’t look like he was going to get it so soon, though, not even on his birthday. The party came and went, and at the end of the night, everyone, including Harry, said goodbye and bid him goodnight. Draco wasn’t sleepy, but after a wonderful time with his toy, remembering Harry's eyes and his hands as he put cake in his mouth, Draco passed out on his bed.  
  
The following weeks passed quickly to Draco, but at the same time, they were torturous. He knew the day he would leave the Foundation was coming, but he tried to delay that day to the fullest - at least in his head. For ages he hadn’t cried in healing sessions with Clearwater, and his work was getting better and more efficient both in the kitchen and in the library. In the days following Drake's death, he didn’t play football, but after the memories stopped hurting so much, he returned to play with the other colleagues he had made. They weren’t as close to him as Drake was, but it was good to be back with his Friday routine. Draco didn’t want to admit it, but he felt comfortable as he was. The changes - the dates where Harry talked to him about anything other than the Foundation, where they made inside jokes, and smiled with each other, were most welcome. Draco no longer felt nervous about the prospect of change.  
  
So he was startled by his own words as he sat on the divan in Clearwater’s room.  
  
“What do you want to do when you get out of here, Draco?” She asked, and he didn’t take long to respond. He had been thinking about it for some time, but only now realised that it wasn’t just a dream.  
  
“I was wondering if... Well, if the Foundation doesn’t need a potioneer,” He answered, and she raised an eyebrow. “I know you buy from a supplier, and that must be very expensive. At any time, it will be too complicated to pay for all internees.”  
  
“Well, there is a fee that most of the internees... Or rather, the relatives of the internees pay. This fee supports our costs.” Clearwater answered, and Draco shook his head.  
  
“And what profit does Potter make with these fees?” He asked, and the healer laughed.  
  
“He's not doing this job to make a profit.”  
  
“Exactly. And he's stupid for that. It isn’t necessary to increase the fee the internees have to pay. He only needs to reduce the cost of production. Honestly, if he paid me a salary I would make potions for half the price he orders, faster and safer.” Draco replied. He had done the math on his own, but he knew the costs were much higher considering that some internees drank potions up to 12 times a day.  
  
“What do you mean? You know that Zabini personally looks after the Foundation's finances, don’t you?” She asked, and Draco scowled.  
  
“And he allowed Potter to continue with this madness?”  
  
“Well, we don’t have a reliable potioneer, and the one who gives us the potions lives in another country. He has no way of working for us exclusively.” Clearwater explained, and Draco snorted.  
  
“Well, I'll try and talk to our Mr. Good-Hero about it.” He sat up, and Clearwater smiled at him.  
  
“Our time is up. I hope to see you again, Draco.” She said, and he nodded.  
  
“Till next week.” He slipped on his shoes - he had taken a habit of taking them off as he entered the room - and headed for the door.  
  
“I wouldn’t be so sure...” He heard, and turned to the woman, confused.  
  
“Oi?”  
  
“Nothing. See you, Draco.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, and Draco ignored the whole thing.  
  
He shouldn’t have.  
  
The next day, as he was retreating to his bedroom, Padma accompanied him in silence. He thought it strange, but he didn’t question her until they reached his bedroom.  
  
“What did I do now?” He asked, and she laughed lightly.  
  
“Nothing,” The mediwitch entered his room, looking around, and thrusting her hands into the front pockets of her robes. “Draco... You...”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You can go home if you want.”  
  
“What?” He closed the door, turning to her. He didn’t quite understand it.  
  
“You can go home now.” She repeated, and he let his hand drop from the doorknob. His heart thudded and he felt his eyes burning.  
  
“Really?” He asked, his voice coming out weak and tearful. Draco felt ashamed, but not so much. Padma smiled, and he noticed in the dim light that her cheeks were wet.  
  
The woman nodded, sniffing a little.  
  
“Yes, really. You can leave on Saturday if you want. Just fill out the paperwork and you're a free guy.”

He let out a laugh, which he didn’t know he was holding, and ran, hugging her by the waist and pulling her off the floor. Draco stopped thinking about leaving, but now that he could, the sense of freedom seemed to overwhelm him.  
  
“Do you know what I'm going to do on Saturday night when I leave?” He asked when he released her, and grinned widely. “I'll go to a diner, the cheapest possible, and I'll order the biggest burger they have.”  
  
Padma laughed even more, hugging him tightly. _Merlin_ , Draco was going to miss that place.

 

 

|| _I worship, high praises  
My longing drives me crazy for you  
My kingdom for your graces  
I'm not gonna tell nobody  
I'm not gonna tell nobody 'bout you_

 

 _Just tell me how I can prove  
I'm the one for your fire  
And I'll take you higher  
I'll do it for you  
And you can worship me too_ ||

 

**_\- Worship – Years and Years_ **

 

 

 

They had a farewell party for him. It was great - as it could be at a rehab centre - and all the friends he had made were present, unlike his birthday, where only the closest were. It was a different kind of emotion. Draco knew that now, out there, he was on his own. There was no Padma to give him potions, no Clearwater to talk to him, not even Percy Weasley to scold him when he was daydreaming in the library - even when he turned a babbling stupid when Wood came by the library to say ‘hi’.  
  
At the end of the party, he was sitting on one of the benches outside, thoughtfully, as Harry sat down beside him. He was in jeans, his black Converse shoes - which Draco knew he had since they got together the first time - and a green jumper. He seemed to have been too lazy to shave that weekend and Draco wanted to run his fingers over his face to feel the roughness. It was so hard for Harry to be sloppy as he once was, now that he was a healer. Draco missed it a little.  
  
“I’ll give you a galleon for your thoughts.” Harry said, and Draco laughed lightly.  
  
“I'm wondering what it's going to be like. Without the routine, without the healers... Without you.” Draco said, not really looking at Harry. He didn’t know if he could put his thoughts out under Harry's intense gaze.  
  
“Going back to real life is always the worst. When we are prevented from doing something it is much easier to resist than when we are free, you know. But I believe in you. We all believe in you. Your mediwizards and witches, your healer, your friends,” Harry spoke quietly, calmly. He lifted a hand, holding Draco's and stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. “And I'll always be with you, Draco. Why do you think I'd stop being by your side when you leave?”  
  
“I won’t be your responsibility anymore.” Draco murmured, and Harry laughed.  
  
“You were never my responsibility. Especially after I stopped being your healer.”  
  
Draco turned to him, frowning.  
  
“Then why aren’t you snogging me and taking me to your rooms?” Draco asked sulkily, and was even more upset when Harry laughed again.  
  
“You're an internee on treatment, and I know how much you can be addicted to sex,” Harry stared at his eyes, and Draco felt himself melt. Merlin, he would never be immune to those eyes. “But soon, you’ll no longer be at rehab. And nothing will stop us from starting over.” Harry took something out of his pocket with his free hand, turning the hand he held and placing a folded paper in Draco's palm. “Good evening, Dragon,” Harry kissed his cheek before he rose and walked away.  
  
As soon as Harry left, Draco looked at the paper in his hand. There was an address and a time for Sunday, and Draco smiled. A date in the same diner where Draco allowed himself to _be himself_ for a while, and indulge in what he felt for Harry.  
  
He could hardly wait for Sunday.  
  
As much as he was eager, however, Draco allowed himself to remain calm. The day of his departure he was quiet, and nothing was out of the ordinary. He grabbed a backpack with his belongings, headed for the main room where he took his wand back - and made some simple spells just to remind himself that he could. He walked past the Evans Foundation gates to the nearest apparition point and headed home.  
  
The Manor seemed even bigger after so long without seeing it. His mother was waiting for him at the door, with a smile and smouldering eyes. Draco hugged her, feeling the full weight of the world leave his back at once. It was wonderful to be free, _truly_ free. The manor didn’t give him chills any more, as was constant before the treatment. He passed through the large doors and went to his bedroom, all the time without feeling the eyes that seemed to follow him before. He took a long shower, dressed in his most comfortable clothes and ran into his mother's arms. It was as if he hadn’t spent enough time with her all his life and now he wanted to make up for it. Draco lay with his head on her lap all morning until early afternoon, talking about the things he had learned, what he had done and the whole treatment process in general, breaking up only when their lunch was served by the elves.  
  
It was weird not having to do anything. It was strange not to have dishes to wash, carrots and potatoes to wash and peel. Draco felt useless, and after lunch, even with the protests of his mother and the house-elves, he began to wash and dry the dishes – Muggle style. It was a soothing and familiar movement. Draco had grown used to that routine and it gave him some purpose.

He didn’t have a gym in his house, and it wasn’t fun to fly alone, so Draco put on his sportswear - a pair of plain sweatpants and a light T-shirt, and ran around the Manor at least four times - and considering the size of the Manor, this was quite a feat. He liked how his body had turned during months of constant exercise, and intended to keep it that way. He didn’t have defined muscles, his body didn’t work that way, but he wasn’t as soft as he had been before. His stomach had well-defined lines around his muscles, his shoulders were decidedly larger, and his legs and arse were _wonderful_. He would pick himself up several times a day looking at himself in the mirror, stretching his legs and imagining Harry's face when he finally agreed to go to bed with him.  
  
Draco couldn’t sleep properly. The prospect of going on a date with Harry was making him agitated and anxious. It had been so long since he'd had a date - a _real_ date. They would go to a diner. Harry probably chose the place not only because they had met there before, but also because it was unlikely that Draco would order alcohol in there. Draco wondered if he could resist if he were to have dinner with his mother and she wanted to have wine, or if he was in a fine restaurant and was expected to drink a glass. Was to stop drinking any alcohol his victory? Or would his true victory to be to stop drinking before he got drunk? When he was in the group meeting, many of them were only intending on reducing the amount of alcohol they consumed. Others wanted to stop altogether. Clearwater had told him that, being an addiction like alcohol, so easy to get back, he should _never_ drink again. Not even getting close to pubs or any place like that, so he'd have to say goodbye to the Fairy Finger. Draco didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but he knew he could resist if he had to. He didn’t need drinks or potions to deal with his life now. He needed only himself. He was going to prepare himself for a Potion Mastering, which he knew he would pass on his first try, and try to work at the Evans Foundation. And he _was_ going to be with Harry. All the disappointments in the past would be remedied with a healthy relationship, a lot of fun, some fights, maybe, and sex. _A lot of_ sex. Draco couldn’t forget that for not even a second.  
  
The hours barely passed, but suddenly it was time for his date and Draco didn’t know what to wear. It was already the second set that he dismissed for being too formal. The others were too casual. Harry may have liked them in the past, but now he was a healer, and had seen him at his worst. He wanted to impress.  
  
His mother, however, found it all unnecessary.  
  
“Draco. It's just Harry. That same kid who took you to a Quidditch match on your first date. Remember him?” She said, sitting up in his big bed, right in the middle of the mess. Draco, dressed only in jeans, turned to her nervously.  
  
“What if he doesn’t want me after seeing me out of the Foundation?” Draco asked, and Narcissa smiled, shaking her head.  
  
“Draco. He spent days by your side while you were in a coma. He took the only day off he had to see _you_. He would stop me every Saturday morning when I was going to visit you and talk for at least 10 minutes with me because of _you_. He made friends with _your_ friends, he struggled to change his wardrobe for _you_. He is Harry Potter and you are Draco Malfoy. He will _always_ be after you.”  
  
It seemed to give him an injection of confidence. He put on a light blue shirt, a jacket on top, since it wasn’t so cold, and trainers. It was casual, and at the same time, fit him perfectly, like all his clothes. They were a little tighter around the shoulders now, but instead of making him weird, they made him sexy.

Draco was at the diner at the exactly right time. Harry arrived less than five minutes later, dressed as Draco imagined he would be. Jeans, a black T-shirt and red Converse – Draco was sure he had a collection of them -, a black jacket on top. He smiled as he saw Draco waiting for him and approached with his hands in his pockets. Draco couldn’t stop his heart from pounding, or the chill on his body, or his sweaty hands. Harry had the most beautiful smile in the world. It was a smile that brightened his eyes, and his teeth seemed extremely white against his brown skin. Draco always found the dichotomy between the two of them beautiful. Harry was so dark compared to himself, but at the same time so pure, a damn _hero_. He, on the other hand, was pure whiteness, but always making wrong decisions at wrong times. Harry, however, never seemed to see him like this. Harry saw him as a human being, as someone worthy of being around for more than one night. It was stupid to get upset about it now, after so many years mulling over his worst decision, blaming himself continually for having turned his back to the one person that saw him as more than a body to fuck. He blinked his eyes quickly, trying to ward off the blaze that was beginning to pinch the inner side of his eyes. Draco refused to cry on their first date after years. He would _not_ cry.  
  
“I was afraid you wouldn’t show up.” Harry said, looking nervous. Draco almost laughed. Why was Harry nervous? He was the good one between them, not the other way around.  
  
“You're crazy if you think I'll let you get away this time.” Draco said, smiling as he demonstrated a self-confidence that he didn’t have but that made Harry grab him by the arm and lead him into the diner.  
  
It was so simple. They sat and made their orders. Harry asked how it had been his first day out of the Foundation and Draco had to admit being bored.  
  
“I can lend you the gym from my house if you want.” Harry offered, and Draco raised an eyebrow.  
  
“You have a gym _inside_ your house?” Draco asked. He remembered Potter's flat and it wasn’t big enough to have a gym inside it.  
  
“Yes. I don’t have much time to go to a gym, so I ended up installing one,” Harry shrugged. “After I moved, I ended up changing the house according to my needs.”  
  
“Did you move?” Draco asked. He liked Harry’s flat, despite the mess. It was cosy.  
  
“Yes. Actually, I was only living in that flat because it was closer to everything. But after I started working full time at the Foundation, I decided that I needed a quieter place where I could hide when I wanted to,” Harry shrugged, pulling his hands off the table as the waitress appeared with their orders. “I can show it to you, if you want.” Harry suggested when the girl left, and Draco felt, deep in his soul, that this wasn’t a request to see his house at all. Harry seemed full of anticipation, and Draco felt his heart beat even harder at the thought of it.  
  
“You know I won’t behave if you take me home, don’t you?” Draco said directly, and Harry smirked awkwardly. Draco had to smile back. That crooked little tooth made its appearance one more time, and Draco wanted to look at it for a long time.  
  
“I’m... I'm counting on it.” Harry said, licking his lips, looking rather awkward. Draco just grinned, grabbing his sandwich and taking a bite, making sure to let out a long groan. He missed eating junk food, and he even had the chance to tease Harry until he was about to pounce.  
  
The subject was set aside for a while, however. Harry told him about the Foundation cases that Draco didn’t know about; he told him about a moment while he was still studying to be a healer, that he needed to study for a Potion subject and, as bad as he was, he desperately needed help and needed to appeal to the best student to help him. She teased him for months until he said he wasn’t interested in girls, which caused her to spend a few more months trying to kill him with poison.  
  
“I would have done the same.” Draco commented, laughing as he drank his fizzy drink. Harry rolled his eyes, shoving the last of his chips into his mouth.  
  
“She was a psychopath. I'm glad I’m out of there. She decided to specialise in the area of poisoning at St. Mungus. Makes sense.” He drank what was left of his drink, and looked at Draco's face with those beautiful bright eyes. Draco wanted to kiss him. It had been ages since he'd felt that mouth against his. Without thinking much, he reached out, grasping Harry's hand, and smoothed the back of his hand with his thumb.

“Harry... are we going to be together?” He didn’t want to sound desperate, but he was a little. He was tired of waiting for Harry to take the initiative, to express himself. He was tired of simply waiting. He was no longer hospitalised, he wasn’t his patient, and maybe he was still taking treatment with Clearwater, but it was by choice, not because he needed it. Draco didn’t want to stop the weekly meetings with the healer because they made his mind clearer. He would keep them at least until he was taking his potion’s course or working.  
  
Harry didn’t answer him immediately. He let go of the hand Draco held and shifted in his chair, as if searching for something in his pocket. When his hand returned to the table, there was a silver glow between his fingers, and Harry opened his hand to reveal what it was. Two rings, apparently made out of silver.  
  
Draco felt his breath stop. Thousands of thoughts went through his head, but he couldn’t form any completely before Harry spoke.  
  
“I like you very much,” Harry began, looking at the rings, as if protecting himself. “I've liked you for a long time. Since Hogwarts, if I'm honest.” Draco was surprised by that, and he felt his shoulders drop, the tension coming out of them. “When we got together on my birthday, years ago, I thought I was finally getting the one thing I really wanted at that moment that I didn’t think I would have. Dating you was wonderful,” Harry laughed, embarrassed. “Even if _you_ weren’t dating me. I thought it was obvious that I really wanted you, but apparently I should have been more assertive. That Valentine's Day was awful. I didn’t want anyone else after that day, and even after the girls convinced me to hang out with some people, it was never good. I decided to be alone, until you reappeared in my life and my heart killed me once more.” Harry looked up at him at last, and there was a gleam in them that Draco couldn’t identify. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t like it was before. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”  
  
He placed the two rings on the table, one of them being a little smaller than the other. Draco knew it was the size of his finger. How Harry had discovered, he would never know.  
  
“That's why I have some conditions about this relationship. I know I shouldn’t impose anything if I want it to work, but I don’t know if I can get into a relationship without knowing what to expect,” He continued. “I don’t know how to share. I never knew how to share. And I wouldn’t want to have to share now. I need to know if you're going to be only with me or if you're going to be with other people. I need to know if you want to be with _me_ or if you just want to have some fun.” Harry swallowed. “I really... I really like you. If I can’t have you completely, I don’t know if I can... What I mean is...” Harry's hands began to tremble, and Draco smiled slightly, lifting both hands and holding his.  
  
“Have you thought about this speech for a long time?” Draco asked, and Harry looked up, frowning.  
  
“I don’t want to sound like I want to control you. I just don’t want to...”  
  
“Get hurt again?” Draco completed, and Harry looked away again, nodding.  
  
“I couldn’t bear to feel it all again. It was... It was awful. To say the least,” Harry said, and picked up the rings again. “I really want to be with you. _Really_. But... I need to make sure you want to be with me. _Only_ with me.”  
  
And then he spread the rings in his palm, offering them to Draco. Draco thought on denying it. He knew Harry needed to be safe, but at the same time he felt he didn’t want to start a relationship with demands... Even though he wanted to do the same demands to Harry. Knowing this, he understood _why_. Harry didn’t want to suffer. Of course, Draco didn’t want it either, and what he wanted was right there in front of him. He took the smaller ring, twisting it between his fingers and looking up at Harry, who was looking at him anxiously.  
  
“I suppose all of this is valid for you, too?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded quickly. Draco smiled, putting the ring on his finger, feeling a light magic trickling through his body. He closed his eyes, trying to identify it. He was always sensitive for it. And it was so obvious. A protection spell. Harry was a healer through and through. “Ok, we have talked about it. So... When are you going to take me to yo-“  
  
Draco couldn’t finish. His words were interrupted by Harry's lips, who leaned across the table and pulled him by his nape, finally giving him a strong kiss. From the position he was, it was difficult to give a deeper kiss, but Draco didn’t care. Harry's tongue was on his lips, pursing his and caressing it with hunger and affection. It was more than he had had in months, and he was loving every moment of it.

The process of paying for their food and apparating to Potter's house was excruciatingly slow. It was certainly a large house, with a large garden, and apparently he also had a car and a yard, but Draco paid no attention. Even Harry didn’t let him pay attention. He took his hand and led him into the house, which although large, didn’t look luxurious as the Manor. Wood and leather furniture, carpets on the floor, something on the walls. He couldn’t observe it, because Harry pressed him against the door as he closed it behind him and kissed his lips hungrily. His hands tightened around his waist, and Draco couldn’t stop thinking of the silver ring that also adorned Harry's ring finger. He was _his_. His, his, _his_! As if to prove it, Draco slipped his hands into Harry's black hair and pulled him closer to him, deepening the kiss. Tongues, lips, teeth. That kiss was as intense as sex, and soon Draco had to pull away for breath.  
  
Harry, however, seemed unable to keep his mouth away from Draco for too long. Soon his neck was being attacked, Harry's hands sticking beneath his shirt and tracing a hot line across his body. Draco was feeling intense heat take over his body, and he lowered his hands to Harry's body as well. He pulled the hem of his shirt, but he remembered that he had to take off his jacket first. He pushed it over Harry's arms, which did the same with his before pulling his shirt out. Draco also pulled at it, leaving his glasses crooked in the process and laughing. His smile didn’t last long. Harry was once again with his mouth on his body, as if he couldn’t wait, as if he couldn’t waist not even a second without tasting him.  
  
Which reminded Draco of something he needed to do.  
  
Harry made him forget that momentarily, though. He felt his hands tighten on his arse cheeks, and a not very dignified moan left his lips, but Draco didn’t try to stop it. He didn’t want to control himself at that moment. He just wanted to _feel_. Harry lowered his hands even more, holding the back of his thighs and pulling him up. Draco leapt into his arms, wrapping Harry's waist with his legs and letting himself be taken to what he supposed to be Harry’s bedroom.  
  
When he felt himself being thrown on the bed, he smiled, looking up at Harry. His expression, however, was one of victory. Even under heavy jeans, he could see how hard Harry was, how much he was excited. The healer wasted no time. Harry kicked off his shoes, took off his socks and opened his jeans, but he didn’t take it off. He approached Draco as a beast approached his prey, taking off his trainers, socks, then holding on his calves, rising to his thighs, and then the waistband of his jeans. He opened it, pulling it down with some help from Draco, who raised his hips to make it easier. Soon, Draco was wearing only his pants, and Harry began to kiss his stomach and chest.  
  
“You look so good... I don’t know if it's my mind, but you look even hotter than before...” Harry said hoarsely against his skin, and Draco smiled. He _was_ hotter. The muscles of his stomach appeared when he contracted them in a certain way, as when he tried to control the urge of pleasure in his body as Harry licked him up and down. He trailed his nose over the contour of his hard cock, making Draco moan as Harry bit lightly over his cock, still covered in his underwear. Harry wanted to kill him with that, he was sure. But he also had plans. He grabbed Harry by his hair and pulled him away from him, pushing him out of the bed.  
  
Quickly, he turned Harry the other way around so that this time he was sitting on the bed, and began to take off what was left of the clothes in him. Harry helped him in the process, and was soon completely naked. Draco had to stop for a few seconds to admire that body, as wonderful as he remembered, and knelt between his legs. He had dreamed with that part of Harry's anatomy more times than he should have, and now that it was there in front of him, imposing and hard, Draco couldn’t think of anything but to hold the thick cock at the base, open his mouth and suck it in as much as he could. Harry let out a groan mingled with a moan, but Draco didn’t see his expression. His eyes were closed, appreciating every inch that entered his mouth. He passed his tongue along the sides. Each time he bobbed his head, he thrust in a little more, the saliva flowing down from the head down to Harry’s balls.  
  
Draco pulled back so he could breathe, watching Harry's face, his eyes glazed on what he was doing, lips open and red, as if he had bitten them.

“I want to feel you again, Harry...” Draco said, licking his glans, and with his other hand, reaching for Harry's, placing it on his own head. “Fuck my throat. I know you want it.” Draco knew he could handle it. He hadn’t tried it on a real person for months, but he knew that this moment would come and he didn’t want to be out of practice. His little toy helped him a lot.  
  
Harry let out an almost sore moan, holding Draco's head in both hands and slowly pushing his cock into his open mouth, thrusting it once or twice, slowly, as if testing, before increasing his speed and pounding it against his throat. Draco placed both hands on the sides of Harry's leg and closed his eyes, the tears that were accumulating from the effort streaming down his cheeks. He wanted to moan, but the speed of Harry’s movements kept him from even breathing a little. Draco held out as much as he could because he didn’t want to stop. His toes contracted with the pure pleasure of causing Harry's groans and grunts of pleasure, and it was with regret that he shoved his hands on the bed so his mouth was free, his head clearing. He breathed deeply, saliva dripping down his chin.  
  
He didn’t have time to think, though. Soon, Harry's hands and mouth were on him, and he was being kissed and pulled back to bed, his pants being tossed somewhere along the other clothes.  
  
“I dreamed of this moment for so long...” Harry murmured against his mouth, running down his neck and sucking on one point of his skin, making Draco moan. He knew it would leave a mark. “I dreamed of the time when I would have you again... Oh, dragon... I intend to have you completely _destroyed_ after I'm done with you.”  
  
Draco's whole body was on fire. Harry snuggled between his legs, and kissed down his chest, sucking one of his nipples with his mouth. Draco had always been sensitive there, and Harry sucked on him, licked and bit him until Draco was a quivering mass of moans and pleasure beneath him. His mouth dropped even lower, and Draco felt his body twist involuntarily when it was Harry's turn to put his cock in his mouth, sucking it with desire. He still didn’t have much practice on it, Draco could tell, but instead of making him sad, it only increased his pleasure. It meant that Harry probably hadn’t done it often, and he was doing it for _him_. Just for him. Draco was dangerously close to come all over himself, with so little. His body was in abstinence, he hadn’t had sex in what seemed to have been _years_ , and it only took Harry holding one of his nipples between thumb and forefinger, pulling and stroking, for Draco to pour his pleasure into his mouth. Harry didn’t stop sucking at him for any moment, and Draco screamed, writhing in bed, moaning nonsense and trying, at the same time, to pull away and go deeper into that mouth.  
  
When he descended from the heights, Draco risked opening his eyes, his body completely softened. Harry licked his lips and smiled, smoothing his thigh. Draco smiled at him too, knowing that Harry smug because he had made him come. Oh, but Draco also knew how to play that game. He spread his legs in an obscene position - aided by his yoga classes - and reached down between them, touching two fingers over his hole and circling it with them.  
  
“Now... I want you here. You think you can fuck me until I come again, Potter?” He asked, and saw the very moment when Harry's smile died, and his eyes went dark with pleasure. He looked like a famine seeing a feast. Harry held his thighs, one hand in each, holding them open, and watched as Draco played with his fingers, pressing but not penetrating.  
  
“I'll fuck you so good, dragon... And so hard... That you'll remember the feeling for _weeks._ ” Harry promised, holding up a hand and Summoning his wand. He made a complicated move with it and pointed it towards Draco's stomach. An icy sensation took over Draco’s body, who let out a little frightened shriek, feeling immediately lighter.  
  
“What did you do?” Draco asked, and Harry laughed, this time murmuring ‘accio’ and Summoning a little pot of lubricant, laying it on the bed and putting his wand aside for the time being, opening the pot and wetting his fingers with lube.

“A spell I learned on the healing training. A cleansing spell. To avoid _accidents_.” Harry explained, and despite understanding it, Draco grimaced. He didn’t want to think about _accidents_ when he was about to be fucked. “And now that you know what it is, I hope I don’t have to explain it next time.” Draco smiled, and bit his lower lip, watching Harry bring his slick fingers closer to his hole and - _Oh, Merlin!_ \- shove the first one to the base, making Draco's head drop back and he close his eyes. He had wanked several times during that time without sex, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. It wouldn’t be so hot, so imprecise. He felt Harry’s finger come and go before he put in the second. Harry was still holding him with his other hand, and he seemed focused on his task.

  
Draco was controlling himself as he could, but it was impossible to hold back the moans that seemed to tear his throat and fill the bedroom, rising with every sharp movement of Harry's fingers. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten where Draco’s prostate was, and was torturing him, always pressing almost... _almost_ there. When he placed his third finger, Draco narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth in a silent scream. It burned, but it was so _good_. He didn’t want to believe his own mouth, but he _couldn’t_ control his gasps.  
  
“Harry...! Come on... I want to feel you... Ung...” Saliva gathered in his mouth, but Harry still took some time to get his fingers off him. It was as if he didn’t want to stop, and his expression seemed even more lost as Draco's muscles tightened around his digits. When Harry finally pulled his fingers out of him, Draco felt empty, but he was satisfied that something much better would come in now. Harry reached out his hand, the one that wasn’t wet with lube, to get his wand, but Draco was quick to hold his wrist.  
  
He knew what Harry was going to do, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel his body against his, _completely_. He wanted to feel every piece of skin, wanted to feel every drop of come.  
  
“No...” he murmured, his voice coming out strangely. “Just come, Harry... I want to feel you...”  
  
Harry eyelids got heavy, and Draco noticed when his cock throbbed visibly. It was as if Harry was controlling himself so as not to come with the prospect of coming in him with nothing between them.  
  
“Draco... Are you s-“  
  
“Harry,” Draco’s voice was more serious than he wanted to. “I want you to put every little bit of your huge cock in me, and fuck me until I can think of nothing but you and the feel of your come running down my legs.” Draco looked directly into the green eyes, which seemed to turn black with those words.  
  
Harry didn’t wait another second. He took the pot of lubricant one more time, pouring a good amount into his hand and wetting his penis abundantly. Draco licked his lips and smiled, holding each thigh with one hand and spreading them, exposing his pulsing hole to Harry. Harry sucked in his breath as he positioned himself against Draco’s hole, and pressed slowly, making Draco's eyes turn in his eyelids and a satisfied smile take over his lips. It was so warm, so thick, so long... It felt like he was being fucked for _ages_ , and it never stopped, _never stopped_. Draco held on as best as he could, fearing that he would come only by being penetrated, and even more so when Harry knew he was trying his hardest to control himself.  
  
When he was in up to the hilt, Harry glued his eyes to his, holding one of Draco's legs and placing it over his shoulder, giving his calf a kiss before moving back and fucking him hard. Draco felt his body press against the bed as Harry's body pushed him with each thrust, the speed increasing as well as the force. Draco struggled to move with him every time Harry slammed into him, but it was heavy, strong and too fast, making him lose his mind in a few seconds.  
  
“Harry... Aa-aah...! _Haa-aaarry_...!” Draco lifted his hands, tucking them into Harry's hair and pulling him into a desperate kiss, his leg touching his chest and making the penetration even deeper.  
  
“Fuck, Draco...! Ah! You're so... Hn... Tight... _Merlin_...! I'll fuck you so good that next time I won’t even need... Aaah... To open you up... You'll be prepared by my cock...” Harry turned his head, biting his calf and making Draco scream from pleasure, his toes curling, his fingers pulling at Harry’s hair.  
  
“And... Are you going to use your come as a lube?” Draco teased, and Harry let out a loud, hoarse grunt, squeezing him even tighter.

“My dragon... Gods... How I missed you... How I dreamed about this day... To have you-ahh! To have you again, to feel you again, to have you just for me...  
  
“Enjoy it, Potter,” Draco tugged at his head, making him look directly at his eyes. Pleasure gathered in his lower stomach, and he knew he needed just a little push... “Because now I'm _all yours_.”  
  
Harry couldn’t control himself after that. He was clearly trying to control his own orgasm, and Draco wanted to be even more cruel.  
  
“Yes, my lion... Come... Mark me... Fill me with your fucking... come ... Prove that I'm only yours now.”  
  
Harry leaned on the bed with one hand, in despair, before letting out a long grunt, followed by a desperate groan. Draco felt, so deep, his body heating up inside, filled with Harry’s pleasure, and that was what made him cross the edge. His orgasm hit him so hard that his chest shook against Harry's, involuntarily writhing, his fingernails scratching his back, his free leg pulling him harder, deeper.  
  
It seemed hours after that, but Draco only hit Harry's shoulders when his leg hurt from being in such an uncomfortable position. Harry pulled away, but before he left completely away from him, Harry opened his legs again, taking his cock out slowly and watching his semen drip out. He licked his lips, bringing two fingers to the red and abused hole, pushing the thick liquid back inside. Draco moaned slightly, satisfied.  
  
“Like what you see?” He teased, and Harry nodded before lifting his eyes and smiling. Draco couldn’t hold his own smile, and for a second he wanted to say that he loved him. But it was so intense, so deep and so early, that he held on. It was frightening even to admit that he loved him that way. Draco let himself, however, seize the feeling. He was at last free from the bonds of his own mind, and he didn’t deem himself inferior to that gaze he received.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, came closer, snuggling between his legs and laying his head on his chest, closing his eyes to hear his heart. Draco smoothed his unruly hair, so incredibly soft, and closed his own eyes.  
  
“Sleep with me?” Harry asked, and Draco wasn’t afraid to say _‘yes’_.

 

***

  
  
When he woke up the next day, Draco had his whole body aching and burning. He knew he had purple marks between his legs and his neck, and the slightest breath made him feel his hole twitching, burning. After the first time, he and Harry still had sex two more times. Draco loved to remember what it was like to ride him, and Harry wanted to have his own memories again, putting him on all fours and taking advantage of how Draco was exposed. Draco didn’t complain, however. He's never been so happy.

  
The bed, however, was too big, and the bedroom was cold. Sleeping with Harry, he noticed, was like sleeping near a fireplace. The healer was warm, and large enough to accommodate him in his arms, which made Draco feel as if he were hugging a furnace. A muscled, chocolate-smelling furnace. Not that he thought it was bad. Draco always felt very cold at night and the warmth of Harry was welcomed. Now he missed it, even though it was the first time he had slept with Harry at his side. Honestly, he didn’t want it to be the last.

 

He sat on the bed, looking around and realising that the clothes Harry had worn the day before were still scattered around the room. Before he could get out of the comfort of the mattress, however, harry appeared in the doorway, buttoning his white shirt and smelling deliciously of chocolate.

  
“Good night’s sleep?” Harry asked, approaching and sitting beside him on the bed, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

  
Draco nodded, and he wasn’t ashamed to hug Harry by the neck and thrust his face into the line between his neck and his shoulder, not a single bit.

  
“Is it early?” Draco asked, and felt Harry’s hand caressing his back.

  
“Yes, it's early. But it's Monday and I need to go to St. Mungus before going to the Foundation. Do you want to go with me? I've made breakfast.” Harry said, and Draco nodded, though he was still half asleep.

  
Draco showered and dressed while Harry finished getting ready. They had breakfast together, and it wasn’t strange at all, as Draco thought it would be. They talked about how the night went, and Harry hinted at what they could do next time. Draco was eager for these next times and hoped that now that he was free of rehab, Harry wouldn’t sleep at the Foundation every night.

 

They went together for the Wizarding Hospital, from where they would go their separate ways. Harry, however, asked Draco to go with him to the lab so he could help him select some potions. Draco did so willingly - he knew Potter was no potion master - and it was a relatively quick job. What made him think it was Potter's plan was one moment when he moved to store the potions in a plastic crate and looked up at the note on the wall in front of him.

 

  
**_“Potioneers training. Integral, morning and afternoon from the 2nd of August. Limited registrations.”_**

 

There was an entry form on a block on the table below the note, and Draco would still have a week to sign up. He took one of the papers, turning his face to Potter, who seemed much focused on some empty jars, and smiled. Draco knew that once he left the Foundation, he should leave the old habits behind. At that moment, he decided that he would not only leave old habits behind. It was time to create new habits. Draco knew that Potter would be the most constant of them.

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> (The parts in between the last scene were taken from Tove Lo's 'Moments'.)


End file.
